The Wife of Athos — The Three Musketeers

After dinner has wiped out the thesis, D'Artagnan says they must find Athos. He trusts the man's sword against gentlemen. He does not trust it against serving men with staves who do not stop. Aramis offers to come, though yesterday's discipline cord only taught him that a gunshot wound and piety do not mix. At daybreak he admires three English horses in the yard. D'Artagnan gives him one, with holsters and a silver-studded saddle. Aramis springs up with his old grace, then goes pale after a few vaults. D'Artagnan catches him and puts him back to bed. Verses and a daily ride will do until the shoulder allows the road. D'Artagnan turns toward Amiens with Planchet. On the way he turns over the friend he may have left to die: cool, finely made, better company than almost anyone when the light is on, and a silent drinker when it is not. June and July are the worst months. The secret, people have said, sits in the past. Athos has never told it, drunk or sober.

They reach the cursed inn at half past eleven. D'Artagnan comes in with his hat down and a whip in his hand. The host does not know him until the word coiner is thrown back. Then he goes pale and begs. Authorities had sent a description of horses, lackeys, and faces, plus six men. Athos killed one, wounded others, took the cellar key, and barricaded himself with Grimaud. The governor later denied the order and threatened to hang the host for using his name. Athos refused a later offer of liberty as a snare. He demanded his armed lackey, locked the door again, and stayed. Bread and meat go down through the air hole on a fork. Wine goes faster. The inn is dying because the oil, bacon, and casks are all downstairs.

Two English travellers arrive hungry and demand the best wine. The cellar erupts. D'Artagnan goes down with Planchet's musketoon ready. Athos is spent and still dangerous. Bottles are broken, oil lost, sausages blamed on rats. When the host weeps, Athos turns gentle. His sixty-pistole purse sits with the justice as false money, though the pieces were good. D'Artagnan sells Bajazet to close the bill and has brought a finer horse. Athos accepts the swap and calls for the bottles left near the laths. He drinks to Porthos and Aramis, then asks what has happened to D'Artagnan himself.

The Constance story comes out. Athos calls it trifles and says he has never loved. Pressed, he offers a real tale of love, then loans it to a friend: a count of Berry, noble as a Montmorency, who at twenty-five married a girl of sixteen. She had come with a brother who passed as a curate. After a hunting fall the count cut her clothes to help her breathe and found a fleur-de-lis on her shoulder. She was branded. He says she had stolen sacred vessels. He had high and low justice on his lands. He tied her hands and hanged her on a tree. The fiction slips. The story, he says, has cured him of beautiful women. He asked after the brother in order to hang him too; the man had left the night before. D'Artagnan cannot bear any more. He pretends to sleep. Athos looks at him with pity and says young fellows cannot drink.