The Man in the Iron Mask
The Patterns.
During all this time the was slowly away, at every of the either a or a menace, as the or on the sands, when they retire with the tide. In about ten minutes Moliere reappeared, making another to D’Artagnan from under the hangings. The after him, with Porthos in the rear, and after a of corridors, him to M. Percerin’s room. The old man, with his up, was up in a piece of gold-flowered brocade, so as the to its luster. Perceiving D’Artagnan, he put the aside, and came to meet him, by no means with joy, and by no means courteous, but, take it altogether, in a manner.
“The captain of the king’s will me, I am sure, for I am engaged.”
“Eh! yes, on the king’s costumes; I know that, my dear Monsieur Percerin. You are making three, they tell me.”
“Five, my dear sir, five.”
“Three or five, ‘tis all the same to me, my dear monsieur; and I know that you will make them most exquisitely.”
“Yes, I know. Once they will be the most in the world, I do not it; but that they may be the most in the word, they must be made; and to do this, captain, I am pressed for time.”
“Oh, bah! there are two days yet; ‘tis much more than you require, Monsieur Percerin,” said D’Artagnan, in the possible manner.
Percerin his with the air of a man little to be contradicted, in his whims; but D’Artagnan did not pay the least attention to the which the tailor to assume.
“My dear M. Percerin,” he continued, “I you a customer.”
“Ah! ah!” Percerin, crossly.
“M. le Baron du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds,” D’Artagnan. Percerin a bow, which no in the of the terrible Porthos, who, from his entry into the room, had been the tailor askance.
“A very good friend of mine,” D’Artagnan.
“I will to monsieur,” said Percerin, “but later.”
“Later? but when?”
“When I have time.”
“You have already told my as much,” in Porthos, discontentedly.
“Very likely,” said Percerin; “I am nearly always pushed for time.”
“My friend,” returned Porthos, sententiously, “there is always time to be when one to it.”
Percerin crimson; an in old men by age.
“Monsieur is at to his elsewhere.”
“Come, come, Percerin,” D’Artagnan, “you are not in a good to-day. Well, I will say one more word to you, which will you on your knees; is not only a friend of mine, but more, a friend of M. Fouquet’s.”
“Ah! ah!” the tailor, “that is another thing.” Then to Porthos, “Monsieur le is to the superintendent?” he inquired.
“I am to myself,” Porthos, at the very moment that the was to a new in the dialogue. Moliere was all observation, D’Artagnan laughed, Porthos swore.
“My dear Percerin,” said D’Artagnan, “you will make a dress for the baron. ‘Tis I who ask you.”
“To you I will not say nay, captain.”
“But that is not all; you will make it for him at once.”
“‘Tis eight days.”
“That, then, is as much as to refuse, the dress is wanted for the at Vaux.”
“I repeat that it is impossible,” returned the old man.
“By no means, dear Monsieur Percerin, above all if I ask you,” said a mild voice at the door, a voice which D’Artagnan up his ears. It was the voice of Aramis.
“Monsieur d’Herblay!” the tailor.
“Aramis,” D’Artagnan.
“Ah! our bishop!” said Porthos.
“Good morning, D’Artagnan; good morning, Porthos; good-morning, my dear friends,” said Aramis. “Come, come, M. Percerin, make the baron’s dress; and I will answer for it you will M. Fouquet.” And he the with a sign, which to say, “Agree, and them.”
It appeared that Aramis had over Master Percerin an to D’Artagnan’s, for the tailor in assent, and upon Porthos, said, “Go and on the other side.”
Porthos in a manner. D’Artagnan saw the coming, and Moliere, said to him, in an undertone, “You see you, my dear monsieur, a man who himself disgraced, if you measure the and that Heaven has him; study this type for me, Master Aristophanes, and profit by it.”
Moliere had no need of encouragement, and his long and on the Baron Porthos. “Monsieur,” he said, “if you will come with me, I will make them take your measure without you.”
“Oh!” said Porthos, “how do you make that out, my friend?”
“I say that they shall apply neither line to the of your dress. It is a new method we have for people of quality, who are too to allow low-born to touch them. We know some who will not put up with being measured, a which, as I think, the natural of a man; and if should be one of these—”
“Corboeuf! I I am too!”
“Well, that is a and most coincidence, and you shall have the of our invention.”
“But how in the world can it be done?” asked Porthos, delighted.
“Monsieur,” said Moliere, bowing, “if you will to me, you will see.”
Aramis this with all his eyes. Perhaps he from D’Artagnan’s that he would with Porthos, so as not to the of a well begun. But, clear-sighted as he was, Aramis himself. Porthos and Moliere left together: D’Artagnan with Percerin. Why? From curiosity, doubtless; to a little longer the of his good friend Aramis. As Moliere and Porthos disappeared, D’Artagnan near the of Vannes, a which appeared particularly to him.
“A dress for you, also, is it not, my friend?”
Aramis smiled. “No,” said he.
“You will go to Vaux, however?”
“I shall go, but without a new dress. You forget, dear D’Artagnan, that a of Vannes is not rich to have new for every fete.”
“Bah!” said the musketeer, laughing, “and do we no more now, either?”
“Oh! D’Artagnan,” Aramis, “I have long ago up all such tomfoolery.”
“True,” D’Artagnan, only convinced. As for Percerin, he was once more in of the brocades.
“Don’t you perceive,” said Aramis, smiling, “that we are this good gentleman, my dear D’Artagnan?”
“Ah! ah!” the musketeer, aside; “that is, I am you, my friend.” Then aloud, “Well, then, let us leave; I have no here, and if you are as as I, Aramis—”
“No, not I—I wished—”
“Ah! you had something particular to say to M. Percerin? Why did you not tell me so at once?”
“Something particular, certainly,” Aramis, “but not for you, D’Artagnan. But, at the same time, I you will that I can have anything so particular to say that a friend like you may not it.”
“Oh, no, no! I am going,” said D’Artagnan, to his voice an of curiosity; for Aramis’s annoyance, well as it was, had not a him; and he that, in that mind, every thing, the most trivial, was designed to some end; an unknown one, but an end that, from the knowledge he had of his friend’s character, the must be important.
On his part, Aramis saw that D’Artagnan was not without suspicion, and pressed him. “Stay, by all means,” he said, “this is what it is.” Then the tailor, “My dear Percerin,” said he,—“I am very happy that you are here, D’Artagnan.”
“Oh, indeed,” the Gascon, for the third time, less this time than before.
Percerin moved. Aramis him violently, by from his hands the upon which he was engaged. “My dear Percerin,” said he, “I have, near hand, M. Lebrun, one of M. Fouquet’s painters.”
“Ah, very good,” D’Artagnan; “but why Lebrun?”
Aramis looked at D’Artagnan, who to be with an of Mark Antony. “And you wish that I should make him a dress, to those of the Epicureans?” answered Percerin. And while saying this, in an manner, the tailor to his piece of brocade.
“An Epicurean’s dress?” asked D’Artagnan, in a of inquiry.
“I see,” said Aramis, with a most smile, “it is that our dear D’Artagnan shall know all our this evening. Yes, friend, you have surely speak of M. Fouquet’s Epicureans, have you not?”
“Undoubtedly. Is it not a of society, of which La Fontaine, Loret, Pelisson, and Moliere are members, and which its at Saint-Mande?”
“Exactly so. Well, we are going to put our in uniform, and them in a for the king.”
“Oh, very well, I understand; a M. Fouquet is up for the king. Be at ease; if that is the about M. Lebrun, I will not mention it.”
“Always agreeable, my friend. No, Monsieur Lebrun has nothing to do with this part of it; the which him is more than the other.”
“Then, if it is so as all that, I not to know it,” said D’Artagnan, making a of departure.
“Come in, M. Lebrun, come in,” said Aramis, opening a side-door with his right hand, and D’Artagnan with his left.
“I’faith, I too, am in the dark,” Percerin.
Aramis took an “opportunity,” as is said in matters.
“My dear M. de Percerin,” Aramis continued, “you are making five for the king, are you not? One in brocade; one in hunting-cloth; one in velvet; one in satin; and one in Florentine stuffs.”
“Yes; but how—do you know all that, monseigneur?” said Percerin, astounded.
“It is all very simple, my dear monsieur; there will be a hunt, a banquet, concert, and reception; these five of dress are by etiquette.”
“You know everything, monseigneur!”
“And a thing or two in addition,” D’Artagnan.
“But,” the tailor, in triumph, “what you do not know, monseigneur—prince of the church though you are—what nobody will know—what only the king, Mademoiselle de la Valliere, and myself do know, is the color of the materials and nature of the ornaments, and the cut, the ensemble, the of it all!”
“Well,” said Aramis, “that is what I have come to ask you, dear Percerin.”
“Ah, bah!” the tailor, terrified, though Aramis had these in his and most tones. The appeared, on reflection, so exaggerated, so ridiculous, so to M. Percerin that he laughed to himself, then aloud, and with a shout. D’Artagnan his example, not he the so “very funny,” but in order not to allow Aramis to cool.
“At the outset, I appear to be an question, do I not?” said Aramis. “But D’Artagnan, who is itself, will tell you that I not do otherwise than ask you this.”
“Let us see,” said the musketeer; with his that they had only been till now, and that the hour of was approaching.
“Let us see,” said Percerin, incredulously.
“Why, now,” Aramis, “does M. Fouquet give the king a fete?—Is it not to him?”
“Assuredly,” said Percerin. D’Artagnan assent.
“By attentions? by some happy device? by a of surprises, like that of which we were talking?—the of our Epicureans.”
“Admirable.”
“Well, then; this is the we intend. M. Lebrun here is a man who most excellently.”
“Yes,” said Percerin; “I have his pictures, and that his were elaborated. That is why I at once to make him a costume—whether to agree with those of the Epicureans, or an original one.”
“My dear monsieur, we accept your offer, and shall presently ourselves of it; but just now, M. Lebrun is not in want of the you will make for himself, but of those you are making for the king.”
Percerin a backwards, which D’Artagnan—calmest and most of men, did not overdone, so many and the which Aramis had just hazarded. “The king’s dresses! Give the king’s to any whatever! Oh! for once, monseigneur, your is mad!” the tailor in extremity.
“Help me now, D’Artagnan,” said Aramis, more and more and smiling. “Help me now to monsieur, for you understand; do you not?”
“Eh! eh!—not exactly, I declare.”
“What! you do not that M. Fouquet to the king the of his portrait on his at Vaux; and that the portrait, which be a resemblance, ought to be as the king will be on the day it is shown?”
“Oh! yes, yes,” said the musketeer, nearly convinced, so was this reasoning. “Yes, my dear Aramis, you are right; it is a happy idea. I will it is one of your own, Aramis.”
“Well, I don’t know,” the bishop; “either mine or M. Fouquet’s.” Then Percerin, after noticing D’Artagnan’s hesitation, “Well, Monsieur Percerin,” he asked, “what do you say to this?”
“I say, that—”
“That you are, doubtless, free to refuse. I know well—and I by no means count upon you, my dear monsieur. I will say more, I all the you in taking up with M. Fouquet’s idea; you appearing to the king. A spirit, M. Percerin, a spirit!” The tailor stammered. “It would, indeed, be a very to pay the prince,” Aramis; “but as the told me, ‘if Percerin refuse, tell him that it will not at all him in my opinion, and I shall always him, only—‘”
“‘Only?’” Percerin, troubled.
“‘Only,’” Aramis, “‘I shall be to say to the king,’—you understand, my dear Monsieur Percerin, that these are M. Fouquet’s words,—‘I shall be to say to the king, “Sire, I had to present your with your portrait, but to a of delicacy, perhaps, although creditable, M. Percerin the project.”’”
“Opposed!” the tailor, at the which would upon him; “I to oppose the desire, the will of M. Fouquet when he is to the king! Oh, what a word you have uttered, monseigneur. Oppose! Oh, ‘tis not I who said it, Heaven have on me. I call the captain of the to it! Is it not true, Monsieur d’Artagnan, that I have nothing?”
D’Artagnan a that he to neutral. He that there was an at the of it, or tragedy; he was at his wit’s end at not being able to it, but in the meanwhile to keep clear.
But already Percerin, by the idea that the king was to be told he in the way of a surprise, had offered Lebrun a chair, and to from a four dresses, the being still in the workmen’s hands; and these he upon four figures, which, into France in the time of Concini, had been to Percerin II. by Marshal d’Onore, after the of the Italian tailors in their competition. The painter set to work to and then to paint the dresses. But Aramis, who was closely all the phases of his toil, stopped him.
“I think you have not got it, my dear Lebrun,” he said; “your colors will you, and on we shall that exact which is requisite. Time is necessary for the shades.”
“Quite true,” said Percerin, “but time is wanting, and on that head, you will agree with me, monseigneur, I can do nothing.”
“Then the will fail,” said Aramis, quietly, “and that of a want of in the colors.”
Nevertheless Lebrun on the materials and with the fidelity—a which Aramis with ill-concealed impatience.
“What in the world, now, is the meaning of this imbroglio?” the saying to himself.
“That will do,” said Aramis: “M. Lebrun, close your box, and roll up your canvas.”
“But, monsieur,” the painter, “the light is here.”
“An idea, M. Lebrun, an idea! If we had a pattern of the materials, for example, and with time, and a light—”
“Oh, then,” Lebrun, “I would answer for the effect.”
“Good!” said D’Artagnan, “this ought to be the point of the whole thing; they want a pattern of each of the materials. Mordioux! Will this Percerin give in now?”
Percerin, from his last retreat, and duped, moreover, by the good-nature of Aramis, cut out five patterns and them to the of Vannes.
“I like this better. That is your opinion, is it not?” said Aramis to D’Artagnan.
“My dear Aramis,” said D’Artagnan, “my opinion is that you are always the same.”
“And, consequently, always your friend,” said the in a tone.
“Yes, yes,” said D’Artagnan, aloud; then, in a low voice, “If I am your dupe, Jesuit that you are, I will not be your accomplice; and to prevent it, ‘tis time I left this place.—Adieu, Aramis,” he added aloud, “adieu; I am going to Porthos.”
“Then wait for me,” said Aramis, pocketing the patterns, “for I have done, and shall be to say a word to our dear old friend.”
Lebrun packed up his and brushes, Percerin put the into the closet, Aramis put his hand on his pocket to himself the patterns were secure,—and they all left the study.
