“Adieu, my dear cousin.  Tell us news of yourself as often as you can; that is to say, as often as you can with safety.  I embrace you.

“Marie Michon.”

“Oh, what do I not owe you, Aramis?” said d’Artagnan.  “Dear Constance!  I have at length, then, intelligence of you.  She lives; she is in safety in a convent; she is at Bethune!  Where is Bethune, Athos?”

“Why, upon the frontiers of Artois and of Flanders.  The siege once over, we shall be able to make a tour in that direction.”

“And that will not be long, it is to be hoped,” said Porthos; “for they have this morning hanged a spy who confessed that the Rochellais were reduced to the leather of their shoes.  Supposing that after having eaten the leather they eat the soles, I cannot see much that is left unless they eat one another.”

“Poor fools!” said Athos, emptying a glass of excellent Bordeaux wine which, without having at that period the reputation it now enjoys, merited it no less, “poor fools!  As if the Catholic religion was not the most advantageous and the most agreeable of all religions!  All the same,” resumed he, after having clicked his tongue against his palate, “they are brave fellows!  But what the devil are you about, Aramis?” continued Athos.  “Why, you are squeezing that letter into your pocket!”

“Yes,” said d’Artagnan, “Athos is right, it must be burned.  And yet if we burn it, who knows whether Monsieur Cardinal has not a secret to interrogate ashes?”

“He must have one,” said Athos.

“What will you do with the letter, then?” asked Porthos.

“Come here, Grimaud,” said Athos.  Grimaud rose and obeyed.  “As a punishment for having spoken without permission, my friend, you will please to eat this piece of paper; then to recompense you for the service you will have rendered us, you shall afterward drink this glass of wine.  First, here is the letter.  Eat heartily.”

Grimaud smiled; and with his eyes fixed upon the glass which Athos held in his hand, he ground the paper well between his teeth and then swallowed it.

“Bravo, Monsieur Grimaud!” said Athos; “and now take this.  That’s well.  We dispense with your saying grace.”

Grimaud silently swallowed the glass of Bordeaux wine; but his eyes, raised toward heaven during this delicious occupation, spoke a language which, though mute, was not the less expressive.

“And now,” said Athos, “unless Monsieur Cardinal should form the ingenious idea of ripping up Grimaud, I think we may be pretty much at our ease respecting the letter.”

Meantime, his Eminence continued his melancholy ride, murmuring between his mustaches, “These four men must positively be mine.”

52 Captivity:  The first day

Let us return to Milady, whom a glance thrown upon the coast of
France has made us lose sight of for an instant.