University of Virginia Library

THE NINETY-NINE GUARDSMEN.
BY AL--X--D--R D--M--S.

1. CHAPTER I.
SHOWING THE QUALITY OF THE CUSTOMERS OF THE INNKEEPER OF
PROVINS.

Twenty years after, the gigantic innkeeper of
Provins stood looking at a cloud of dust on the highway.

This cloud of dust betokened the approach of a
traveler. Travelers had been rare that season on
the highway between Paris and Provins.

The heart of the innkeeper rejoiced. Turning to
Dame Perigord, his wife, he said, stroking his white
apron:

St. Denis! make haste and spread the cloth. Add
a bottle of Charlevoix to the table. This traveler,
who rides so fast, by his pace must be a Monseigneur.

Truly the traveler, clad in the uniform of a musketeer,
as he drew up to the door of the hostelry,

did not seem to have spared his horse. Throwing
his reins to the landlord, he leaped lightly to the
ground. He was a young man of four and twenty,
and spoke with a slight Gascon accent.

“I am hungry, Morbleu! I wish to dine!”

The gigantic innkeeper bowed and led the way to
a neat apartment, where a table stood covered with
tempting viands. The musketeer at once set to
work. Fowls, fish and pâtés disappeared before
him. Perigord sighed as she witnessed the devastations.
Only once the stranger paused.

“Wine!” Perigord brought wine. The stranger
drank a dozen bottles. Finally he rose to depart.
Turning to the expectant landlord, he said:

“Charge it.”

“To whom, your highness?” said Perigord, anxiously.

“To his Eminence!”

“Mazarin!” ejaculated the innkeeper.

“The same. Bring me my horse,” and the musketeer,
remounting his favorite animal, rode away.

The innkeeper slowly turned back into the inn.
Scarcely had he reached the courtyard, before the
clatter of hoofs again called him to the doorway.
A young musketeer of a light and graceful figure,
rode up.

“Parbleu, my dear Perigord, I am famishing.
What have you got for dinner?”

“Venison, capons, larks and pigeons, your excellency,”
replied the obsequious landlord, bowing to
the ground.

“Enough!” The young musketeer dismounted
and entered the inn. Seating himself at the table
replenished by the careful Perigord, he speedily
swept it as clean as the first comer.

“Some wine, my brave Perigord,” said the graceful
young musketeer, as soon as he could find utterance.

Perigord brought three dozen of Charlevoix. The
young man emptied them almost at a draught.

“By-by, Perigord,” he said lightly, waving his
hand, as, preceding the astonished landlord, he slowly
withdrew.

“But, your highness—the bill,” said the astounded
Perigord.

“Ah, the bill. Charge it!”

“To whom?”

“The Queen!”

“What, Madame?”

“The same. Adieu my good Perigord,” and the
graceful stranger rode away. An interval of quiet
succeeded, in which the innkeeper gazed woefully
at his wife. Suddenly he was startled by a clatter
of hoofs, and an aristocratic figure stood in the doorway.

“Ah,” said the courtier good naturedly. “What,
do my eyes deceive me? No, it is the festive and
luxurious Perigord. Perigord, listen. I famish. I
languish. I would dine.”

The innkeeper again covered the table with viands.
Again it was swept clean as the fields of Egypt before
the miraculous swarm of locusts. The stranger
looked up.

“Bring me another fowl, my Perigord.”

“Impossible, your excellency, the larder is
stripped clean.”

“Another flitch of bacon, then.”

“Impossible, your highness—there is no more.”

“Well, then, wine!”

The landlord brought one hundred and forty-four
bottles. The courtier drank them all.

“One may drink if one cannot eat,” said the aristocratic
stranger, good-humoredly.

The innkeeper shuddered.

The guest rose to depart. The innkeeper came
slowly forward with his bill, to which he had covertly
added the losses which he had suffered from the previous
strangers.

“Ah! the bill—charge it.”

“Charge it! to whom?”

“To the King,” said the guest.

“What! his Majesty?”

“Certainly. Farewell, Perigord.”

The innkeeper groaned. Then he went out and
took down his sign. Then remarked to his wife:

“I am a plain man, and don't understand politics.
It seems, however, that the country is in a
troubled state. Between his Eminence the Cardinal,
his Majesty the King, and her Majesty the Queen,
I am a ruined man.”

“Stay,” said Dame Perigord, “I have an idea.”

“And that is—”

“Become yourself a musketeer.”

2. CHAPTER II.
THE COMBAT.

On leaving Provins the first musketeer proceeded
to Nangis, where he was reinforced by thirty-three
followers. The second musketeer, arriving at Nangis
at the same moment, placed himself at the head of
thirty-three more. The third guest of the Landlord
of Provins arrived at Nangis in time to assemble together
thirty-three other musketeers.

The first stranger led the troops of his Eminence.

The second led the troops of the Queen.

The third led the troops of the King.

The fight commenced. It raged terribly for seven
hours. The first musketeer killed thirty of the
Queen's troops. The second musketeer killed thirty
of the King's troops. The third musketeer killed
thirty of his Eminence's troops.

By this time it will be perceived the number of
musketeers had been narrowed down to four on
each side.

Naturally the three principal warriors approached
each other.

They simultaneously uttered a cry:

“Aramis!”

“Athos!”

“D'Artagnan!”

They fell into each other's arms.

“And it seems that we are fighting against each

other, my children,” said the Count de la Fere,
mournfully.

“How singular!” exclaimed Aramis and D'Artagnan.

“Let us stop this fratricidal warfare,” said Athos.

“We will!” they exclaimed together.

“But how to disband our followers?” queried
D'Artagnan.

Aramis winked. They understood each other.
“Let us cut 'em down!”

They cut 'em down: Aramis killed three. D'Artagnan
three. Athos three.

The friends again embraced. “How like old
times,” said Aramis. “How touching!” exclaimed
the serious and philosophic Count de la Fere.

The galloping of hoofs caused them to withdraw
from each other's embraces. A gigantic figure rapidly
approached.

“The innkeeper of Provins! they cried, drawing
their swords.

“Perigord, down with him!” shouted D'Artagnan.

“Stay,” said Athos.

The gigantic figure was beside them. He uttered
a cry.

“Athos, Aramis, D'Artagnan!”

“Porthos!” exclaimed the astonished trio.

“The same.” They all fell in each other's arms.

The Count de la Fere slowly raised his hands to
Heaven. “Bless you! Bless us, my children!
However different our opinion may be in regard to
politics, we have but one opinions in regard to our

own merits. Where can you find a better man than
Aramis?”

“Than Porthos?” said Aramis.

“Than D'Artagnan?” said Porthos.

“Than Athos?” said D'Artagnan.

3. CHAPTER III.
SHOWING HOW THE KING OF FRANCE WENT UP A LADDER.

The King descended into the garden. Proceeding
cautiously along the terraced walk, he came to
the wall immediately below the windows of Madame.
To the left were two windows, concealed by vines.
They opened into the apartments of La Valliere.

The King sighed.

“It is about nineteen feet to that window,” said
the King. “If I had a ladder about nineteen feet
long, it would reach to that window. This is logic.”

Suddenly the King stumbled over something. “St.
Denis!” he exclaimed, looking down. It was a ladder,
just nineteen feet long.

The King placed it against the wall. In so doing,
he fixed the lower end upon the abdomen of a man
who lay concealed by the wall. The man did not
utter a cry or wince. The King suspected nothing.
He ascended the ladder.

The ladder was too short. Louis the Grand was
not a tall man. He was still two feet below the window.

“Dear me!” said the King.

Suddenly the ladder was lifted two feet from below.
This enabled the King to leap in the window.
At the further end of the apartment stood a young
girl, with red hair and a lame leg. She was trembling
with emotion.

“Louise!”

“The King!”

“Ah, my God, mademoiselle.”

“Ah, my God, sire.”

But a low knock at the door interrupted the lovers.
The King uttered a cry of rage; Louise one of
despair.

The door opened and D'Artagnan entered.

“Good evening, sire,” said the musketeer.

The King touched a bell. Porthos appeared in
the doorway.

“Good evening, sire.”

“Arrest M. D'Artagnan.”

Porthos looked at D'Artagnan, and did not move.

The King almost turned purple with rage. He
again touched the bell. Athos entered.

“Count, arrest Porthos and D'Artagnan.”

The Count de la Fere glanced at Porthos and
D'Artagnan, and smiled sweetly.

“Sacre! Where is Aramis?” said the King, violently.

“Here sire,” and Aramis entered.

“Arrest Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan.

Aramis bowed and folded his arms.

“Arrest yourself!”

Aramis did not move.

The King shuddered and turned pale. “Am I
not King of France?”

“Assuredly sire, but we are also severally, Porthos,
Aramis, D'Artagnan, and Athos.”

“Ah!” said the King.

“Yes, sire.”

“What does this mean?”

“It means, your majesty,” said Aramis, stepping
forward, “that your conduct as a married man is
highly improper. I am an Abbé, and I object to
these improprieties. My friends here, D'Artagnan,
Athos and Porthos, pure-minded young men, are
also terribly shocked. Observe sire, how they
blush!”

Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan blushed.

“Ah,” said the King, thoughtfully. “You teach
me a lesson. You are devoted and noble young
gentlemen, but your only weakness is your excessive
modesty. From this moment I make you all Marshals
and Dukes, with the exception of Aramis.

“And me, sire?” said Aramis.

“You shall be an Archbishop!”

The four friends looked up and then rushed into
each other's arms. The King embraced Louise de la
Valliere, by way of keeping them company. A
pause ensued. At last Athos spoke:

“Swear, my children, that next to yourselves, you
will respect—the King of France; and remember
that `Forty years after' we will meet again.”