Louise de la Valliere | Page 7

in anything. Ah! if I could only hold the
balancing-pole while you were dancing, it would be a very different
affair."
"But, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the king, gravely, "people
dance without balancing-poles."
"Ah! indeed," said the musketeer, continuing his imperceptible tone of
irony, "I had no idea such a thing was possible."
"You have not seen me dance, then?" inquired the king.
"Yes; but I always thought dancers went from easy to difficult
acrobatic feats. I was mistaken; all the more greater reason, therefore,
that I should leave for a time. Sire, I repeat, you have no present
occasion for my services; besides, if your majesty should have any
need of me, you would know where to find me."
"Very well," said the king, and he granted him leave of absence.
We shall not look for D'Artagnan, therefore, at Fontainebleau, for to do
so would be useless; but, with the permission of our readers, follow
him to the Rue des Lombards, where he was located at the sign of the
Pilon d'Or, in the house of our old friend Planchet. It was about eight
o'clock in the evening, and the weather was exceedingly warm; there
was only one window open, and that one belonging to a room on the
entresol. A perfume of spices, mingled with another perfume less
exotic, but more penetrating, namely, that which arose from the street,
ascended to salute the nostrils of the musketeer. D'Artagnan, reclining
in an immense straight-backed chair, with his legs not stretched out, but
simply placed upon a stool, formed an angle of the most obtuse form
that could possibly be seen. Both his arms were crossed over his head,
his head reclining upon his left shoulder, like Alexander the Great. His
eyes, usually so quick and intelligent in their expression, were now
half- closed, and seemed fastened, as it were, upon a small corner of
blue sky that was visible behind the opening of the chimneys; there was
just enough blue, and no more, to fill one of the sacks of lentils, or

haricots, which formed the principal furniture of the shop on the ground
floor. Thus extended at his ease, and sheltered in his place of
observation behind the window, D'Artagnan seemed as if he had ceased
to be a soldier, as if he were no longer an officer belonging to the
palace, but was, on the contrary, a quiet, easy-going citizen in a state of
stagnation between his dinner and supper, or between his supper and
his bed; one of those strong, ossified brains, which have no more room
for a single idea, so fiercely does animal matter keep watch at the doors
of intelligence, narrowly inspecting the contraband trade which might
result from the introduction into the brain of a symptom of thought. We
have already said night was closing in, the shops were being lighted,
while the windows of the upper apartments were being closed, and the
rhythmic steps of a patrol of soldiers forming the night watch could be
heard retreating. D'Artagnan continued, however, to think of nothing,
except the blue corner of the sky. A few paces from him, completely in
the shade, lying on his stomach, upon a sack of Indian corn, was
Planchet, with both his arms under his chin, and his eyes fixed on
D'Artagnan, who was either thinking, dreaming, or sleeping, with his
eyes open. Planchet had been watching him for a tolerably long time,
and, by way of interruption, he began by exclaiming, "Hum! hum!" But
D'Artagnan did not stir. Planchet then saw that it was necessary to have
recourse to more effectual means still: after a prolonged reflection on
the subject, the most ingenious means that suggested itself to him under
the present circumstances, was to let himself roll off the sack on to the
floor, murmuring, at the same time, against himself, the word "stupid."
But, notwithstanding the noise produced by Planchet's fall, D'Artagnan,
who had in the course of his existence heard many other, and very
different falls, did not appear to pay the least attention to the present
one. Besides, an enormous cart, laden with stones, passing from the
Rue Saint- Mederic, absorbed, in the noise of its wheels, the noise of
Planchet's tumble. And yet Planchet fancied that, in token of tacit
approval, he saw him imperceptibly smile at the word "stupid." This
emboldened him to say, "Are you asleep, Monsieur d'Artagnan?"
"No, Planchet, I am not even asleep," replied the musketeer.
"I am in despair," said Planchet, "to hear such a word as even."
"Well, and why not; is it not a grammatical word, Monsieur Planchet?"
"Of course, Monsieur d'Artagnan."

"Well!"
"Well, then, the word distresses me beyond measure."
"Tell me why you are distressed, Planchet," said D'Artagnan.
"If you say that you are