The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexandre Dumas (web based ebook reader .TXT) 📖

Athos, during the visit made to the Luxembourg by Raoul, had gone to Planchet’s residence to inquire after D’Artagnan. The comte, on arriving at the Rue des Lombards, found the shop of the grocer in great confusion; but it was not the encumberment of a lucky sale, or that of an arrival of goods. Planchet was not enthroned, as usual, on sacks and barrels. No. A young man with a pen behind his ear, and another with an account-book in his hand, were setting down a number of figures, whilst a third counted and weighed. An inventory was being taken. Athos, who had no knowledge of commercial matters, felt himself a little embarrassed by material obstacles and the majesty of those who were thus employed. He saw several customers sent away, and asked himself whether he, who came to buy nothing, would not be more properly deemed importunate. He therefore asked very politely if he could see M. Planchet. The reply, quite carelessly given, was that M. Planchet was packing his trunks. These words surprised Athos. “What! his trunks?” said he; “is M. Planchet going away?”

“Yes, monsieur, directly.”

“Then, if you please, inform him that M. le Comte de la Fere desires to speak to him for a moment.”

At the mention of the comte’s name, one of the young men, no doubt accustomed to hear it pronounced with respect, immediately went to inform Planchet. It was at this moment that Raoul, after his painful scene with Montalais and De Guiche, arrived at the grocer’s house. Planchet left his job directly he received the comte’s message.

“Ah! monsieur le comte!” exclaimed he, “how glad I am to see you! What good star brings you here?”

“My dear Planchet,” said Athos, pressing the hand of his son, whose sad look he silently observed,—“we are come to learn of you—But in what confusion do I find you! You are as white as a miller; where have you been rummaging?”

“Ah, diable! take care, monsieur; don’t come near me till I have well shaken myself.”

“What for? Flour or dust only whiten.”

“No, no; what you see on my arms is arsenic.”

“Arsenic?”

“Yes; I am taking my precautions against rats.”

“Ay, I suppose in an establishment like this, rats play a conspicuous part.”

“It is not with this establishment I concern myself, monsieur le comte. The rats have robbed me of more here than they will ever rob me of again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, you may have observed, monsieur, my inventory is being taken.”

“Are you leaving trade, then?”

“Eh! mon Dieu! yes. I have disposed of my business to one of my young men.”

“Bah! you are rich, then, I suppose?”

“Monsieur, I have taken a dislike to the city; I don’t know whether it is because I am growing old, and as M. d’Artagnan one day said, when we grow old we more often think of the adventures of our youth; but for some time past I have felt myself attracted towards the country and gardening. I was a countryman formerly.” And Planchet marked this confession with a rather pretentious laugh for a man making profession of humility.

Athos made a gesture of approval, and then added: “You are going to buy an estate, then?”

“I have bought one, monsieur.”

“Ah! that is still better.”

“A little house at Fontainebleau, with something like twenty acres of land round it.”

“Very well, Planchet! Accept my compliments on your acquisition.”

“But, monsieur, we are not comfortable here; the cursed dust makes you cough. Corbleu! I do not wish to poison the most worthy gentleman in the kingdom.”

Athos did not smile at this little pleasantry which Planchet had aimed at him, in order to try his strength in mundane facetiousness.

“Yes,” said Athos, “let us have a little talk by ourselves—in your own room, for example. You have a room, have you