"I believe the first object of significance you should spend your gold on are some decent clothes." Aramis chuckled, shaking his head at D'Artagnan.
"But, her name! I still don't even know her name." D'Artagnan said, eyeing the castle.
"You are not-" Felice warned him.
"Now don't go losing your head, boy." Porthos gripped his wet shoulder. "You can't just waltz back in there, unsummoned, looking like a stray pup dragged through the mud!"
"How do you expect to stop him?" Felice crossed her arms. This I must see!
"Easy." Porthos answered nonchalantly, leading D'Artagnan along by his coat. D'Artagnan wriggled from his grasp.
"Would you stop?" He groaned, exceedingly embarrassed. "I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own. I'm not a drunk!"
"Well, you certainly look the part." Athos said triumphantly. D'Artagnan narrowed his eyes.
"You're one to talk…" He grunted.
"Come, lad." Athos smirked. "We will set you out to dry."
D'Artagnan borrowed one of Aramis's shirts that he offered when they made it back to their house. Planchet was stupefied to see D'Artagnan in dripping wet clothes, but he quickly hung them on a line. Porthos boasted that he had already made an appointment for them all at the tailor's in an hour. "Mother has always made our clothes," Felice told Planchet. The two of them were peeling potatoes to go with supper.
"Oh, well, I am sure the tailor will do just as well, miss." Planchet said. "Or he wouldn't be in service around here."
"I am most curious, how will I look in a new suit?" D'Artagnan mentioned as he watched them while he leaned against the wall, eating an apple.
"You shall be very handsome, sir. As always." Planchet chided. D'Artagnan held his head high.
"Planchet, do you happen to personally know any of the ladies in waiting to the queen?" D'Artagnan asked.
"No, sir." Planchet said dismally. "Oh, I have heard that they are a delight to look on when one is able to steal a glance at them. But I am afraid I never get that chance. Why do you ask, sir?"
"He has his sights set on a fair damsel." Felice said wistfully.
"What's wrong with that?" D'Artagnan sputtered defensively, straightening up.
"Only that you hardly know her."
"I know that she has her wits about her! It is her name I do not know of."
"How do you know she will tell you her true name?" Felice questioned.
"How do you know she won't?" D'Artagnan huffed.
"Listen to your sister, boy." Athos said grimly, listening from his melancholy little corner of the room. "A pretty face is well enough, but many of the great have fallen because their judgement stopped there." He swallowed down more wine.
"Oh, I assure you all, I intend to learn her true colors, and very much so!" D'Artagnan exclaimed.
"Just so." Athos remarked.
"I knew a lovely lass once." Planchet said happily. "Celina was the name. She had hair as black as night, and as smooth as a silken scarf. And eyes as green as emeralds, my friends. Her voice was so demure, like a spring breeze. She was a ravishing sight to behold! All of the gentlemen called on her. I always hoped that one day, one of those lucky fellows would be me!"
"And what became of that?" D'Artagnan asked.
"Well, I finally stored up enough courage to ask her father's permission to court her. So, I pressed my best clothes, picked some pretty wildflowers, and made my way to her house. But it was all for naught. When I arrived, there was a family celebration announcing her engagement to one those lawyer fellows about town."
"That's a shame." Felice shook her head.
"Have you thought about her all these years?" D'Artagnan asked.
"From time to time. I have always wondered what might have been. I would've made her a fine husband. After all, I can cook and sew, and keep house!" Planchet boasted.
"Well, she would've been lucky indeed." Felice said.
"But after a while, I have high doubts that you would've felt the same, Planchet." D'Artagnan mused.
"Aye, that is most likely true. But I shall always have her memory." Planchet sighed.
Aramis strode into the dining room. "Captain de Treville is sending for both you and your sister to an interview with him this evening." He said.
"Uh oh!" D'Artagnan shrugged. "Well, then, Felice, I don't think it would be wise to disappoint him!"
"Did Monsieur Treville explain what for?" Felice asked Aramis.
"Not to me, no." Aramis said casually.
"How will our new suits possibly be ready by tomorrow?" D'Artagnan shrugged.
"Why do you think Paris is the most outlandishly fastidious city in Europe?" Porthos retorted with a chuckle. "The seamstresses of Paris are the most skilled with a needle. Not to mention swift! And, pretty to look at!"
"And some customers notoriously wealthy." Athos teased.
"So, the lady that we saw with you, the one whose purse-" D'Artagnan grinned evilly.
"More wine, Planchet!" Porthos bellowed, interrupting. They all snickered at him, except Planchet who was lost on the joke.
"It's right beside you on the table, mon ami." Aramis smirked. Porthos whirled on his heel and drank right from the jug.
"I suppose we are all entitled to our own secret vices." D'Artagnan sighed.
"Err, vice is an ugly, strong word for it." Aramis corrected him, blushing. Athos raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing.
The five-some band met at the tailor's where they were fussed over, and the current customers in the shop were cheering them for the fight at Cooper's Yard, and the ladies were eyeing them coyly. They were outfitted and scheduled to return the next morning to pick up their new garments before going to the palace.
As they waltzed out of the shop, a welcome sight stood on the street waiting for them. She smiled bashfully. D'Artagnan's eyes lit up, and he walked right over to her. "Mademoiselle, what brings you here?" Athos asked the maiden from Cooper's Yard.
"The queen sent me to bring you your wages." The girl said. "She said that it would be best for you to have it now rather than tomorrow, for any personal needs."
"Thank you, miss." Aramis tipped his hat.
"Very accommodating of you, lass." Porthos bowed, gleefully jingling the bag of gold in his hand.
"You still didn't answer my question." D'Artagnan reminded her. "What is your name?"
The cute, willowy little blonde blushed and smiled widely. "Constance." She murmured.
"Constance. Sounds very steadfast." D'Artagnan approved.
"A quality you seem to know little about." Constance retorted. Felice was taken aback with amusement. So, this Constance wasn't just a pretty face, but she had a good head on her shoulders.
Okay. She's alright, Felice approved. Smart too. She isn't so caught up by those puppy dog eyes of his, or his over zealous charm that she loses her faculties. That is the kind of girl Charles should pursue.
"Oh, I beg to differ, my lady!" D'Artagnan interjected. "I have many hidden qualities you underestimate. The name is D'Artagnan."
"You must come from a very small town." Constance mentioned.
"Gascony, actually. Yes. How did you know?"
"Lines like yours might actually work there. This is Paris, I suggest you stick to swordplay. In a battle of wits, you sir, are unarmed." Constance sighed. "I hope you find this useful." She gave him his purse.
"Will we be seeing you at the parade tomorrow?" Felice asked. If she remembered correctly, this was the very first time she'd ever spoken to the girl!
"Most likely, from a distance." Constance said. "I shall be by the queen's side, of course."
"Of course. Well, thank you. I am Felice, by the way." Felice smiled.
"I know. Well, I'd best be getting back." Constance curtsied and then picked up her skirts and headed back for the palace.
"Lovely girl." Porthos nudged D'Artagnan.
"Aye." Aramis agreed.
"Shall we head back then?" Athos suggested.
"I bet you two ducklings have never held so much gold in your life." Porthos remarked.
"To be honest? No." D'Artagnan grinned.
"Well, what do you intend to do with it, considering our new suits are settled at the king's expense?"
"I, I don't know." D'Artagnan shook his head.
"I do. Now, we shall find a room of our own." Felice said, almost happily.
"What?" D'Artagnan sputtered.
"We will have money now, Charles." Felice reminded him. "It should be enough to start our first month's rent for our own room at one of the hotels."
"Felice, but...we're not ready for that yet." D'Artagnan told her dismally.
"What do you mean?" Felice's eyes widened.
"We're staying with our friends." D'Artagnan said.
"B-but, Charles. W-we can't now." Felice stammered, her stomach filled with anxiety.
"Excuse us for a moment, please." D'Artagnan glanced at his friends. They nodded and walked across the street. "Felice, it wouldn't be safe to lodge elsewhere right now."
"Why not, Charles?"
"We're musketeers now. We have to stick together. Listen," D'Artagnan lowered his voice, "if Rochefort were to find us, in a boarding house, he would not be alone! He'd bring his bloody lackeys, and together they'd overpower us. If it were just me, I'd fight them to the death. But if he got his hands on...I...I wouldn't be able to protect you. He's a coward. Oh, yes, he does his own dirty work, but never alone. His followers are always with him, remember?" Felice stiffened, biting her lip. "We must remain with the musketeers, we'll be safer for it."
Felice hung her head. She knew her brother was right. "Oh, Charles," she whimpered, starting to shake.
"Hey, I thought you were beginning to warm up to them." D'Artagnan remarked, bewildered.
"I...it's, it's easier when I'm with you." Felice met his eyes. "If you are nearby, Charles, if you are in the room, it is not so hard to maybe even enjoy the time with them. But, when...when I am alone, when it is dark and my thoughts converse with me as you sleep, I become frightened. My mind goes back to Meung, and as astute as Masters Athos, Porthos, and Aramis appear to be, we have only just met them, Charles. Don't forget that. We hardly know them."
"I feel that I know them very well already." D'Artagnan argued gently. "I trust them."
"I wish I could share your sentiment, Charles. I really do!"
"Why don't you try then?"
"It's...not that easy."
"I trust them, Felice. I just wish you would trust me." D'Artagnan said hurtfully, and edge in his voice.
"What? Charles!" Felice gasped, her face stricken. "I, I do trust you!"
"Apparently, it's not enough." D'Artagnan spoke dryly. He turned and walked off down the street toward the house they shared with the musketeers.
"Charles! I'm sorry. I…" Felice stood there, her lip trembling.That's not what I meant! You just don't understand! She could feel the penetrating eyes of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis watching them heavily. She grimaced and marched after her brother, but at a distance.
"Well, it appears they have had another spat. Only much more painful this time." Porthos sighed.
"Aye." Aramis agreed solemnly.
"Give them time." Athos said. "Come on."
Oh, dear. That was unexpected. Will they be able to resolve their differences before meeting with Captain Trevile?