Twenty Years After

During ten minutes he alone kept the crowd at bay; at last Comminges appeared, pushing Broussel before him.

“Let us break the carriage!” cried the people.

“In the king’s name!” cried Comminges.

“The first who advances is a dead man!” cried Raoul, for it was in fact he, who, feeling himself pressed and almost crushed by a gigantic citizen, pricked him with the point of his sword and sent him howling back.

Comminges, so to speak, threw Broussel into the carriage and sprang in after him. At this moment a shot was fired and a ball passed through the hat of Comminges and broke the arm of one of the guards. Comminges looked up and saw amidst the smoke the threatening face of Louvieres appearing at the window of the second floor.

“Very well, sir,” said Comminges, “you shall hear of this anon.”

“And you of me, sir,” said Louvieres; “and we shall see then who can speak the loudest.”

Friquet and Nanette continued to shout; the cries, the noise of the shot and the intoxicating smell of powder produced their usual maddening effects.

“Down with the officer! down with him!” was the cry.

“One step nearer,” said Comminges, putting down the sashes, that the interior of the carriage might be well seen, and placing his sword on his prisoner’s breast, “one step nearer, and I kill the prisoner; my orders were to carry him off alive or dead. I will take him dead, that’s all.”

A terrible cry was heard, and the wife and daughters of Broussel held up their hands in supplication to the people; the latter knew that this officer, who was so pale, but who appeared so determined, would keep his word; they continued to threaten, but they began to disperse.

“Drive to the palace,” said Comminges to the coachman, who was by then more dead than alive.

The man whipped his animals, which cleared a way through the crowd; but on arriving on the Quai they were obliged to stop; the carriage was upset, the horses carried off, stifled, mangled by the crowd. Raoul, on foot, for he had not time to mount his horse again, tired, like the guards, of distributing blows with the flat of his sword, had recourse to its point. But this last and dreaded resource served only to exasperate the multitude. From time to time a shot from a musket or the blade of a rapier flashed among the crowd; projectiles continued to hail down from the windows and some shots were heard, the echo of which, though they were probably fired in the air, made all hearts vibrate. Voices, unheard except on days of revolution, were distinguished; faces were seen that only appeared on days of bloodshed. Cries of “Death! death to the guards! to the Seine with the officer!” were heard above all the noise, deafening as it was. Raoul, his hat in ribbons, his face bleeding, felt not only his strength but also his reason going; a red mist covered his sight, and through this mist he saw a hundred threatening arms stretched over him, ready to seize upon him when he fell. The guards were unable to help any one-each one was occupied with his self-preservation. All was over; carriages, horses, guards, and perhaps even the prisoner were about to be torn to shreds, when all at once a voice well known to Raoul was heard, and suddenly a great sword glittered in the air; at the same time the crowd opened, upset, trodden down, and an officer of the musketeers, striking and cutting right and left, rushed up to Raoul and took him in his arms just as he was about to fall.

“God’s blood!” cried the officer, “have they killed him? Woe to them if it be so!”

And he turned around, so stern with anger, strength and threat, that the most excited rebels hustled back on one another, in order to escape, and some of them even rolled into the Seine.

“Monsieur d’Artagnan!” murmured Raoul.

“Yes, ‘sdeath! in person, and fortunately it seems for you, my young friend. Come on, here, you others,” he continued, rising in his stirrups, raising his sword, and addressing those musketeers who had not been able to follow his rapid onslaught. “Come, sweep away all that for me! Shoulder muskets! Present arms! Aim-”

At this command the mountain of populace thinned so suddenly that D’Artagnan could not repress a burst of Homeric laughter.

“Thank you, D’Artagnan,” said Comminges, showing half of his body through the window of the broken vehicle, “thanks, my young friend; your name-that I may mention it to the queen.”

Raoul was about to reply when D’Artagnan bent down to his ear.

“Hold your tongue,” said he, “and let me answer. Do not lose time, Comminges,” he continued; “get out of the carriage if you can and make another draw up; be quick, or in five minutes the mob will be on us again with swords and muskets and you will be killed. Hold! there’s a carriage coming over yonder.”

Then bending again to Raoul, he whispered: “Above all things do not divulge your name.”

“That’s right. I will go,” said Comminges; “and if they come back, fire!”

“Not at all-not at all,” replied D’Artagnan; “let no one move. On the contrary, one shot at this moment would be paid for dearly to-morrow.”

Comminges took his four guards and as many musketeers and ran to the carriage, from which he made the people inside dismount, and brought them to the vehicle which had upset. But when it was necessary to convey the prisoner from one carriage to the other, the people, catching sight of him whom they called their liberator, uttered every imaginable cry and knotted themselves once more around the vehicle.

“Start, start!” said D’Artagnan. “There are ten men to accompany you. I will keep twenty to hold in check the mob; go, and lose not a moment. Ten men for Monsieur de Comminges.”

As the carriage started off the cries were redoubled and more than ten thousand people thronged the Quai and overflowed the Pont Neuf and adjacent streets. A few shots were fired and one musketeer was wounded.

“Forward!” cried D’Artagnan, driven to extremities, biting his moustache; and then he charged with his twenty men and dispersed them in fear. One man alone remained in his place, gun in hand.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, “it is thou who wouldst have him assassinated? Wait an instant.” And he pointed his gun at D’Artagnan, who was riding toward him at full speed. D’Artagnan bent down to his horse’s neck, the young man fired, and the ball severed the feathers from the hat. The horse started, brushed against the imprudent man, who thought by his strength alone to stay the tempest, and he fell against the wall. D’Artagnan pulled up his horse, and whilst his musketeers continued to charge, he returned and bent with drawn sword over the man he had knocked down.

“Oh, sir!” exclaimed Raoul, recognizing the young man as having seen him in the Rue Cocatrix, “spare him! it is his son!”

D’Artagnan’s arm dropped to his side. “Ah, you are his son!” he said; “that is a different thing.”

“Sir, I surrender,” said Louvieres, presenting his unloaded musket to the officer.

“Eh, no! do not surrender, egad! On the contrary, be off, and quickly. If I take you, you will be hung!”

The young man did not wait to be told twice, but passing under the horse’s head disappeared at the corner of the Rue Guenegaud.

“I’faith!” said D’Artagnan to Raoul, “you were just in time to stay my hand. He was a dead man; and on my honor, if I had discovered that it was his son, I should have regretted having killed him.”

“Ah! sir!” said Raoul, “allow me, after thanking you for that poor fellow’s life, to thank you on my own account. I too, sir, was almost dead when you arrived.”

“Wait, wait, young man; do not fatigue yourself with speaking. We can talk of it afterward.”

Then seeing that the musketeers had cleared the Quai from the Pont Neuf to the Quai Saint Michael, he raised his sword for them to double their speed. The musketeers trotted up, and at the same time the ten men whom D’Artagnan had given to Comminges appeared.

“Halloo!” cried D’Artagnan; “has something fresh happened?”

“Eh, sir!” replied the sergeant, “their vehicle has broken down a second time; it really must be doomed.”

“They are bad managers,” said D’Artagnan, shrugging his shoulders. “When a carriage is chosen, it ought to be strong. The carriage in which a Broussel is to be arrested ought to be able to bear ten thousand men.”

“What are your commands, lieutenant?”

“Take the detachment and conduct him to his place.”

“But you will be left alone?”

“Certainly. So you suppose I have need of an escort? Go.”

The musketeers set off and D’Artagnan was left alone with Raoul.

“Now,” he said, “are you in pain?”

“Yes; my head is not only swimming but burning.”

“What’s the matter with this head?” said D’Artagnan, raising the battered hat. “Ah! ah! a bruise.”

“Yes, I think I received a flower-pot upon my head.”

“Brutes!” said D’Artagnan. “But were you not on horseback? you have spurs.”

“Yes, but I got down to defend Monsieur de Comminges and my horse was taken away. Here it is, I see.”

At this very moment Friquet passed, mounted on Raoul’s horse, waving his parti-colored cap and crying, “Broussel! Broussel!”

“Halloo! stop, rascal!” cried D’Artagnan. “Bring hither that horse.”

Friquet heard perfectly, but he pretended not to do so and tried to continue his road. D’Artagnan felt inclined for an instant to pursue Master Friquet, but not wishing to leave Raoul alone he contented himself with taking a pistol from the holster and cocking it.

Friquet had a quick eye and a fine ear. He saw D’Artagnan’s movement, heard the sound of the click, and stopped at once.

“Ah! it is you, your honor,” he said, advancing toward D’Artagnan; “and I am truly pleased to meet you.”

D’Artagnan looked attentively at Friquet and recognized the little chorister of the Rue de la Calandre.

“Ah! ‘tis thou, rascal!” said he, “come here: so thou hast changed thy trade; thou art no longer a choir boy nor a tavern boy; thou hast become a horse stealer?”

“Ah, your honor, how can you say so?” exclaimed Friquet. “I was seeking the gentleman to whom this horse belongs-an officer, brave and handsome as a youthful Caesar;” then, pretending to see Raoul for the first time:

“Ah! but if I mistake not,” continued he, “here he is; you won’t forget the boy, sir.”

Raoul put his hand in his pocket.

“What are you about?” asked D’Artagnan.

“To give ten francs to this honest fellow,” replied Raoul, taking a pistole from his pocket.

“Ten kicks on his back!” said D’Artagnan; “be off, you little villain, and forget not that I have your address.”

Friquet, who did not expect to be let off so cheaply, bounded off like a gazelle up the Quai a la Rue Dauphine, and disappeared. Raoul mounted his horse, and both leisurely took their way to the Rue Tiquetonne.

D’Artagnan watched over the youth as if he had been his own son.

They arrived without accident at the Hotel de la Chevrette.

The handsome Madeleine announced to D’Artagnan that Planchet had returned, bringing Mousqueton with him, who had heroically borne the extraction of the ball and was as well as his state would permit.

D’Artagnan desired Planchet to be summoned, but he had disappeared.

“Then bring some wine,” said D’Artagnan. “You are much pleased with yourself,” said he to Raoul when they were alone, “are you not?”

“Well, yes,” replied Raoul. “It seems to me I did my duty. I defended the king.”

“And who told you to defend the king?”

“The Comte de la Fere himself.”

“Yes, the king; but to-day you have not fought for the king, you have fought for Mazarin; which is not quite the same thing.”

“But you yourself?”

“Oh, for me; that is another matter. I obey my captain’s orders. As for you, your captain is the prince, understand that rightly; you have no other. But has one ever seen such a wild fellow,” continued he, “making himself a Mazarinist and helping to arrest Broussel! Breathe not a word of that, or the Comte de la Fere will be furious.”

“You think the count will be angry with me?”

“Think it? I’m certain of it; were it not for that, I should thank you, for you have worked for us. However, I scold you instead of him, and in his place; the storm will blow over more easily, believe me. And moreover, my dear child,” continued D’Artagnan, “I am making use of the privilege conceded to me by your guardian.”

“I do not understand you, sir,” said Raoul.

D’Artagnan rose, and taking a letter from his writing-desk, presented it to Raoul. The face of the latter became serious when he had cast his eyes upon the paper.

“Oh, mon Dieu!” he said, raising his fine eyes to D’Artagnan, moist with tears, “the count has left Paris without seeing me?”

“He left four days ago,” said D’Artagnan.

“But this letter seems to intimate that he is about to incur danger, perhaps death.”

“He-he-incur danger of death! No, be not anxious; he is traveling on business and will return ere long. I hope you have no repugnance to accept me as your guardian in the interim.”

“Oh, no, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said Raoul, “you are such a brave gentleman and the Comte de la Fere has so much affection for you!”

“Eh! Egad! love me too; I will not torment you much, but only on condition that you become a Frondist, my young friend, and a hearty Frondist, too.”

“But can I continue to visit Madame de Chevreuse?”

“I should say you could! and the coadjutor and Madame de Longueville; and if the worthy Broussel were there, whom you so stupidly helped arrest, I should tell you to excuse yourself to him at once and kiss him on both cheeks.”

“Well, sir, I will obey you, although I do not understand you.”

“It is unnecessary for you to understand. Hold,” continued D’Artagnan, turning toward the door, which had just opened, “here is Monsieur du Vallon, who comes with his coat torn.”

“Yes, but in exchange,” said Porthos, covered with perspiration and soiled by dust, “in exchange, I have torn many skins. Those wretches wanted to take away my sword! Deuce take ‘em, what a popular commotion!” continued the giant, in his quiet manner; “but I knocked down more than twenty with the hilt of Balizarde. A draught of wine, D’Artagnan.”

“Oh, I’ll answer for you,” said the Gascon, filling Porthos’s glass to the brim; “but when you have drunk, give me your opinion.”

“Upon what?” asked Porthos.

“Look here,” resumed D’Artagnan; “here is Monsieur de Bragelonne, who determined at all risks to aid the arrest of Broussel and whom I had great difficulty to prevent defending Monsieur de Comminges.”

“The devil!” said Porthos; “and his guardian, what would he have said to that?”

“Do you hear?” interrupted D’Artagnan; “become a Frondist, my friend, belong to the Fronde, and remember that I fill the count’s place in everything;” and he jingled his money.

“Will you come?” said he to Porthos.

“Where?” asked Porthos, filling a second glass of wine.

“To present our respects to the cardinal.”

Porthos swallowed the second glass with the same grace with which he had imbibed the first, took his beaver and followed D’Artagnan. As for Raoul, he remained bewildered with what he had seen, having been forbidden by D’Artagnan to leave the room until the tumult was over.