Chapter 20 - Page 2

had the honor to beg you to state the particulars of the
grievances you say you have against me."

"Aloud?"

"Certainly, aloud."

"In that case, I will speak."

"Speak, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, bowing; "we are all listening to you."

"Well, monsieur, it is not a question of a personal injury towards
myself, but one towards my father."

"That you have already stated."

"Yes; but there are certain subjects which are only approached with
hesitation."

"If that hesitation, in your case, really does exist, I entreat you to
overcome it."

"Even if it refer to a disgraceful action?"

"Yes; in every and any case."

Those who were present at this scene had, at first, looked at each other
with a good deal of uneasiness. They were reassured, however, when they
saw that D'Artagnan manifested no emotion whatever.

De Wardes still maintained the same unbroken silence. "Speak, monsieur,"
said the musketeer; "you see you are keeping us waiting."

"Listen, then: - My father loved a lady of noble birth, and this lady
loved my father." D'Artagnan and Athos exchanged looks. De Wardes
continued: "M. d'Artagnan found some letters which indicated a
rendezvous, substituted himself, under disguise, for the person who was
expected, and took advantage of the darkness."

"That is perfectly true," said D'Artagnan.

A slight murmur was heard from those present. "Yes, I was guilty of that
dishonorable action. You should have added, monsieur, since you are so
impartial, that, at the period when the circumstance which you have just
related happened, I was not one-and-twenty years of age."

A renewed murmur was heard, but this time of astonishment, and almost of
doubt.

"It was a most shameful deception, I admit," said D'Artagnan, "and I have
not waited for M. de Wardes's reproaches to reproach myself for it, and
very bitterly, too. Age has, however, made me more reasonable, and,
above all, more upright; and this injury has been atoned for by a long
and lasting regret. But I appeal to you, gentlemen; this affair took
place in 1626, at a period, happily for yourselves, known to you by
tradition only, at a period when love was not over-scrupulous, when
consciences did not distill, as in the present day, poison and
bitterness. We were young soldiers, always fighting, or being attacked,
our swords always in our hands, or at least ready to be drawn from their
sheaths. Death then always stared us in the face, war hardened us, and
the cardinal pressed us sorely. I have repented of it, and more than
that - I still repent it, M. de Wardes."

"I can well understand that, monsieur, for the action itself needed
repentance; but you were not the