CHAPTER EIGHT

ATHOS'S SHOULDER AND PORTHOS'S SHOULDER-STRAP

In a state of fury, D'Artagnan rushed towards the stairs, hoping to descend them at four at a time. Unfortunately, in his hurry he ran against a Musketeer who was coming out of one of M. de Tréville's private rooms, and, striking his shoulder violently, caused him to utter a loud cry.

"Excuse me," said D'Artagnan, attempting to continue on his way. "Excuse me, but I am in a hurry."

Scarcely had he descended the first stair, when a hand of iron seized him by the belt and stopped him.

"So you are in a hurry!" said the Musketeer, as pale as a sheet. "You say 'excuse me', and you believe that that is sufficient? Not at all, young man. Do you fancy that because you heard M. de Tréville speak to us roughly to-day that other people may treat us as he speaks to us? Do not make a mistake; you are not M. de Tréville."

"Upon my word!" replied D'Artagnan, recognizing Athos who had just had his wound dressed by the doctor. "Upon my word! I did not do it intentionally, and not having done it intentionally I said 'excuse me'. It appears to me that that is quite enough. Take your hand from my belt and let me go where my business calls me."

"Sir," said Athos, letting go of the belt, "you are not polite. It is easy to see that you come from the country and lack the good manners of the town." D'Artagnan had already gone down three or four stairs, but at Athos's last remark he stopped short. "Good heavens!" said he. "However far I may have come, it is not you who can give me a lesson in good manners, I warn you."

"Perhaps!" said Athos.

"Ah! If I were not in such a hurry, and if I were not running after someone," said D'Artagnan.

"Mr. Man-in-a-hurry, you can find me without running after me. Do you understand?"

"And where?"

"Near the Monastery behind the Luxembourg." ?"

"At what time?"

"About noon."

"That will do; I'll be there."

"Try not to keep me waiting, because at a quarter past twelve I will cut off your ears as you run."

"Good!" cried D'Artagnan. "I'll be there." He rushed off down the stairs hoping to find the unknown whose slow pace could not have taken him far.

Unfortunately for the hurrying young man, Porthos happened to be chatting with the soldier on guard at the street entrance. Between the two there was just room for a person to pass and, naturally, D'Artagnan did not hesitate to make a dash between them. As he was on the point of doing so, Porthos's long velvet cloak was blown out by the breeze and D'Artagnan, instead of gaining the liberty of the street, found himself entangled in the long folds of the garment. Porthos was holding a corner of his cloak in his hand, and for reasons best known to himself, he did not let go. He kept a firm hold and pulled it sharply to him. The result of this sudden pull was to twist D'Artagnan round and wrap him up more hopelessly in the clinging velvet.

Porthos swore angrily, nevertheless he still kept a firm grip on the cloak, while an equally angry young Gascon groped about in the folds trying to free himself.

D'Artagnan remembered the magnificent shoulder-strap and was particularly anxious not to spoil the freshness of the glittering gold. But, a surprise awaited him. On opening his eyes he found himself looking at a point between Porthos's two massive shoulders, that is to say, at the strap within two inches of his nose.

Alas! The strap, glittering with gold in front, was nothing but plain leather behind. Vain-glorious Porthos, unable to afford a shoulder-strap completely embroidered with gold, had at least half a one in front to show to an admiring world. The pretence for the cold with the supposed necessity for the cloak was exposed.

Porthos, in terrible rage, made a movement to rush after D'Artagnan who was hurrying off.

"Presently," cried the latter. "Presently, when you haven't got your cloak on."

"At one o'clock then, behind the Luxembourg."

"Very well. At one o'clock," called D'Artagnan, turning the corner of the street.

In no direction, however, could the unknown be seen. D'Artagnan enquired of everyone, but in vain.