D'Artagnan and Felice both went back into the house for supper, though they were awkwardly quiet. And incredibly embarrassed as they could feel everyone scrutinizing them. Well, in such a small room, it was impossible to escape that. Porthos, however, rambled on and on about his plans for the gold that been granted to him. Of course, his ambitions were extravagant.
"Merci, Planchet." D'Artagnan approved. "A fine supper."
"Merci, sir. But I cannot take all the credit. The lady kindly assisted me." Planchet smiled brightly at Felice.
"You whipped up most of it, mon ami." Felice corrected.
"Who would care for some sweets?" Porthos asked. "I, for one, feel a craving for poppy seed cake." Planchet brought out a tray of poppy seed cake slices. Porthos grabbed three of them in his massive fists. D'Artagnan and Felice took a piece.
"Excellent. But not the same as Mother's." D'Artagnan boasted.
"No, indeed." Felice agreed. "But I shall soon rectify that. Wait until the people of Paris taste Mother's own recipes! They will never look at their French pastries the same way again."
"Should your employer approve, that is." D'Artagnan reminded her. "Welp, we must be going." He stood up, still eating his cake. "I do not wish to disappoint Captain de Treville!"
"Aye." Felice nodded, also rising from her seat. She picked up her cloak from the rack on the wall.
"Would you like for us to accompany you?" Aramis offered.
"No need, dear Aramis." D'Artagnan shook his head. "We'll be fine." He opened the door for Felice then closed it behind them.
"I'd say things are looking up." Porthos announced cheerily.
"Let us hope so." Aramis nodded.
"Ohh. Looks like rain." D'Artagnan observed, glancing up at the sky. "We'd best hurry." He scuttled through the streets with Felice behind him. There was a tense silence between them, both anxious to break the ice, but unsure and nervous over how to achieve that. They were halfway to the musketeers' headquarters when D'Artagnan finally halted, and turned to face her. "Look, we...we need to talk." He said sullenly.
"Wi. I know." Felice mumbled nervously.
"Felice, I didn't want to hurt you, but…"
"Neither did I, Charles!" Felice spoke quickly.
"Darling, I don't want you to be afraid. It angers me seeing you that way. But, I need you to trust me!"
"I do, Charles. I trust you more than anyone, that is why I wanted an apartment to ourselves. So that we could live somewhere that I wouldn't feel so anxious all the time." Felice tried to explain. D'Artagnan sighed.
"And we will. But I truly feel that this is not the right time. I need you to understand, that I would not insist on us housing with the musketeers if I believed they would harm you!"
Felice bit her lip. "I see that, Charles. But after what happened in Meung, do you honestly expect me to instantly show myself friendly with complete strangers?"
"You mean, men."
"Yes!"
"No, of course not." D'Artagnan shook his head, frowning. Felice let out a breath. "Look, just because you despise me-"
"What? What on earth makes you think that?!" Felice cut him off. "Charles, what are you saying?!"
"You can't stand the musketeers, because you don't trust them. I know what that means. That you...you despise me most of all." D'Artagnan hung his head defeatedly.
"Charles de Batz de Castlemore D'Artagnan! That's not true!" Felice gasped, shaking him by the shoulders.
"My g-! Don't you blame me for what Rochefort tried to do to you?" D'Artagnan sputtered, astonished. I do!
"I...I did, at first. But, how were you to know that, that he was going to cheat in your duel? We didn't know who he was when you challenged him! I have been doing a lot of thinking, Charles. Do I believe that you taking on Rochefort, for making cold jests, was wise? No, I don't. But, you are not responsible for him being the rotten person that he is! He was already a reeking scoundrel before we came along!" Felice declared. "Can I bear the thought of being in his presence again? No, never! Not ever.
'But that was on him, not you, Charles. If it hadn't been me, who knows? I have little doubt that I am the first unfortunate maid he has inflicted his crimes upon. Yes, Charles, I am still afraid. Whenever I think of him, I become so scared! Even the musketeers have no love lost with him. I'm petrified when I think of the possibility you mentioned of Rochefort storming into our apartment. But that's not your fault. It isn't!' " There were tears in her eyes. It hadn't been easy to admit that. But she meant every word.
D'Artagnan gazed at her pensively, his eyes beginning to well up. He grasped her wrist and she hid her face to wipe her tears with her shoulders. "We're gonna be okay." He reminded her. Felice sniffled. It started to lightly rain. "I'm glad you're here, Felice." He smiled sadly. "And listen, it's alright if you're still afraid." He squeezed her hand.
The rain began to come down a little harder, so Felice threw up her hood while D'Artagnan pulled his hat lower over his eyes. They hurried along, trying to dodge people and vendors rushing in the street, trying to get their stocks covered and inside their dwellings. "This would be more convenient had I thought to bring Buttercup!" D'Artagnan groaned, trying to lead Felice under tunnels and balconies so they wouldn't become so drenched.
"This isn't like Gascony!" Felice reminded him. He chuckled. When they were younger, sometimes they would get caught in the rain while playing outdoors, and would race home giggling and wet. Their mother, Madame D'Artagnan would scold them, shove them towards the fireplace, peel off their sticky clothes, swaddle them in dry towels, and fill them up with hot cocoa and warm tidbits, but not until she was sure that they were absolutely dry, so they wouldn't become ill with miserable colds. Ahh, the hot cocoa, the buttered rolls or sweet biscuits, the thrill of running to their cottage under the spoilsport clouds that had tried to ruin their day, and the cozy little parlor they huddled in together, surrounded by their parents' love! Yes, Paris was not Gascony.
"We're nearly there!" D'Artagnan told Felice. They began to dart across the street when a carriage thundered in their direction. D'Artagnan quickly drew back, yanking Felice away.
"Watch where you're going, you filthy dimwits!" The driver barked down at them. "Brainless beggars." He muttered as he drove on.
"Hey!" D'Artagnan called out to him angrily. "Oui, you! Get back here! We're not-" Felice grabbed him by the arm.
"Forget it, Charles!" She told him brusquely. "Come, or we'll be late!" D'Artagnan growled, frustrated but followed.
They made it to Captain de Treville's military headquarters breathlessly, and shook off their cloaks as they went inside. The musketeers in the lobby and the hallways belted out laughing at the two of them when they saw their rain tattered appearances. "Well, I have no doubt that the men in arms have had their share of showing up looking much worse for wear." D'Artagnan said lightly.
"Oui, now, what the likes of you two young scamps doin' 'ere?" One of the musketeers asked, wolfing down a tumbler of ale.
"Captain de Treville sent for us, Monsieur." D'Artagnan answered proudly. The spectators howled.
"Run along, boy. Run along, little girl. We're swordsmen of the crown, not a charity house."
"Ask him yourself." D'Artagnan said impatiently. Felice noticed that his hand was hovering over the hilt of his sword.
"Master Aramis informed us that Monsieur de Treville required an interview with us this evening." She spoke up.
"Is that so, young missy? Well, here's the sad truth, sweetheart, the military ain't no place for a lady."
D'Artagnan's face grew hot. He was wet, a bit cold, and was growing impatient. He also glowered when he noticed a few of the men eyeing Felice and whispering about her, then...whistling. Felice felt like she was going to lose her balance.
"Not again, not again, not again…" She whispered frantically.
"What's all the jeering about?" Captain de Treville huffed, when he appeared from around the corner. "Ahh, there you are." He spotted the two Gascons. "I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up!"
"Oh, no, sir!" D'Artagnan blurted. "We were a bit delayed, is all."
"Well, you are here. Come, have something warm to drink." Treville beckoned them to follow after him. D'Artagnan strode forward, Felice gripping his arm. She blushed deeply and her heart thudded when the soldiers whistled at her and she heard them whispering about her. "Alright, you mutton heads." Treville addressed them. "We have business to discuss. The rest of you get back to yours." The musketeers groaned, but obeyed without argument. Treville led D'Artagnan and Felice to his office. "Sit." He instructed them. "Some ale, to take the chill out?"
"Wi! Merci, monsieur!" D'Artagnan's eyes lit up.
"Thank you, no sir." Felice declined.
"Ahh. Some tea then perhaps?" Treville offered.
"Aye. That would be fine." Felice nodded.
"You're probably curious as to why I sent for you."
"That did cross our minds, sir." D'Artagnan chided. Treville handed both of them steaming mugs then sat at his desk chair.
"Well, I have spoken with his majesty. He seemed most pleased with you, D'Artagnan." Treville folded his hands on his desk. "He has recruited you as one of his own musketeers."
"Yes, sir. A true honor I was actually a little afraid I would not receive."
"Well, welcome to the military academy, young man." Treville smiled. "You will learn here about the duties and skills of a true musketeer. And I am sure that my Three Inseparables will be more than proficient in showing you a thing or two as you get to know each other."
"Aye, sir. Although I dare say, I am more than capable of defending myself, sir, in a scuffle. Not to brag." D'Artagnan grinned innocently.
"Yes, I know." Treville said dryly, feigning disinterest. "But a good man is never above improvement. Remember that." Then he turned to Felice. "And as for you, miss, how do you find your sleeping quarters? Not too confining, I hope."
"It's...tolerable." Felice remarked.
"Personally, I think the entire notion is ridiculous. But as long as you are both safe, and not out on the streets, I suppose it is acceptable. I have a commission for you, Mademoiselle."
"A commission? For me?" Felice gaped, dumbstruck. "Sir?"
"I am told that you handled yourself rather admirably against the Cardinal's guards." Treville cocked his head.
"It was necessary instinct, sir. Nothing more." Felice said lowly.
"But you possess some fine fighting skills."
"My brother and my father taught me, should, God forbid, the need ever arise that I would find myself cornered in an ugly situation." Felice explained.
"Wise men." Treville approved. "But you have a set of hands on fighting techniques that most ladies do not possess."
"I thank you for the compliments, Monsieur. It is an honor to hear you say so. But I did not come to Paris for the military."
"I recall. And that is why I am assigning you as a secret musketeer in your new occupation."
"Sir?" Felice sputtered again.
"You wish to bake for the kingdom. A noble profession. But as one of my secret fighters, you will have full authority and knowledge of defending the innocent and helpless if you run across such heinous crimes as was thrust upon the two of you in Meung. Ruffians can be anywhere, young Gascons. Even in a French bakery. So, I am appointing you as one of my fighters if you see injustice being committed."
"I...I…don't know what to say. This is so unexpected!"
"A 'at your service, Monsieur de Treville,' would suffice."
"At your service, Monsieur de Treville." D'Artagnan and Felice said together.
"Good. I will not require you to join your brother to attend the exercises here, but I do expect reports of suspicious activities, any trouble you run into, and for Masters Athos, Porthos, and Aramis to help you brush up on your techniques."
"Yes, sir." Felice said meekly. What the heck did I just agree to?! The idea of being surrounded every day by those cat-whistling men was overwhelmingly terrifying.
"We're Gascons, sir." D'Artagnan boasted. "Our father was a musketeer himself. I give my word, we will not let you down!"
"I know you won't." Captain de Treville smiled, rising to his feet. "That is why I am counting on you." He reached for D'Artagnan's hand, who shook it generously. Felice gripped it and curtsied nervously. "Well, you'd best hurry back to your lodging before it really begins to downpour!"
"At least I don't have to come with you for your classes." Felice said with relief as they trotted home.
"I'll say! It'll be much easier for me to show them what I'm made of without my little sister always tagging along." D'Artagnan agreed.
"Hey!" Felice nudged him. He cackled. The rain was pouring down harder than when they'd first come this way. "I do hope that Planchet has some hot cocoa on the stove!" Felice exclaimed as they tried to run through the rain.
"And some wine too!" D'Artagnan puffed. Felice shrieked and skidded to a stop, nearly tripping onto the slippery cobblestone.
"What?"
"Not again!" Felice swallowed. D'Artagnan looked forward and saw a platoon of Cardinal's guards approaching them.
"Bon sang de bonsoir…" D'Artagnan hissed.