All language subtitles for La fille de dArtagnan 1994 French HDTV 1080i AVC MKV AC-3.en

D'ARTAGNAN'S DAUGHTER

12 Holland coifs...

12 Holland coifs.

6 sackcloth frocks,
2 hair shirts...

8 and 6.
14 and 2 make 16.

16 Ecus of three Livres.

16 Ecus.

4 shirts in Artois linen.

4 shirts in Artois linen.

8 sols, 3 liards.

The Devil... half-naked!

Vade retra. Satanas!

Upon my soul, it's Beelzebub!

- It's an African native.
- A native?

A human being with a soul,
like you or me.

A black soul?

Naturally. But baptism
and prayer can wash it clean.

Stop cackling and take him
to my room.

Duke Crassac takuteka?

Not you, Eloise.
Sister Huguette, come!

And you, pray!

Your presence profanes
a sacred place.

Where's the Negro? Talk!

Never!

Don't waste time!
Search and find him!

- Eloise, for the love of God!
- You milksops! Zounds!

She curses!

You needn't fear.
God will protect you.

Sit down.

Let no one in!

How do you say it in African?

Madame!

Up there.

I forbid you!
This is sacrilege!

You will be excommunicated.

She has the key.
Search her.

Don't you dare!
I'd die first!

Aah!

Who told you to?
Bungler!

You told me.

I just said to search her.
That's all. Nicely.

Wait until my father hears of this!

What madness to let him escape.
If he should talk...

Talk to whom, my lord?
He can't mumble a word of French.

But a Negro in the Perigord!

They're for shipping to the Americas,
not touring the provinces.

A robust specimen, too.

The best are always
the first to go, my lord.

Goddamn.
A 30-pistole Negro...

- Maybe more.
- Goddamn.

I loathe swearing, but goddamn!
Why sail so near the coast?

To unload the secret cargo...
the sacks and chests.

I'd have sent a boat out.

I also wanted

to visit my family nearby.
It's been seven years.

Your kind can do without kin.
10, 15 years.

How long will it take?

As long as necessary, my lord.

A week, maybe two.

Goddamn.

And that?

What's all this?

The latest St. Etienne muskets,
Swedish triggers...

Unsurpassable! And they
throw them on the ground!

For the culprit...

10 lashes. 12.
24!

12 in front, 24 behind!
42!

Whip the whole lot of them!

Eloise, my child.

I know you as if you were my own.

When the Lord took
your poor mother...

Your father entrusted you to my care,
to raise and protect you.

I'll get my father
and his regiment.

We'll crush them.

No, Eloise.

Listen. The woman in red...

I have proof here
that can condemn her.

Swear to me.

I swear, Mother.

The wicked are many
and our little sisters weak.

Swear not to...

I swear not to leave
you unavenged, Mother.

No, no.

I swear it, a sacred oath...

I'll avenge you, Mother.

- Do I look all right?
- Short in the legs.

Squat gardener,
stout choirmaster.

I stole what I could.

Don't squabble.
It's a perfect fit.

It feels nice.

We could start a new fashion.

Women in trousers?

In public?
Horrors!

God won't allow such obscenity.

Leave God out of it.

Did he give us legs to hide them?

I rather like mine.

And mine?

I can show mine, too.

Sure you won't come along?

No.

Here we eat every day.

Greetings, lads!
Want to fight for the kingdom?

Come on, you sissies.

There's gold
and glory to be had.

Coronation's coming.
The king is 16 now.

No more toy soldiers.
Now it's war, with real soldiers.

I won't leave
without five volunteers.

Come on, sign up!

Roast leg of lamb, my boy.

And how's the soup?

Do you swill-pots hear me?

A glass of wine!

I'm thirsty, too.

Give him a glass.

"Demoiselle..."

No.

Everywhere you're billeted,
you'll share everything...

Bed, bread,
salt, candles, wine...

The mistress, too.

"Dance...

Butterfly, dance."

"Love..."

You're home by winter
to make a little soldier,

and off you go.

Go on, sign!

Sign up for the high life!

Can't write? Make a cross.

"Dance, butterfly...

Dance. Love..."

Writing love letters to the lads?
Keen on pansies?

If you like men, my boy,
the army opens its arms.

And the rest.

You can write. So sign up.

You'll room together, dearies.

In the same room. Imagine!

- What's he doing?
- How clumsy of me.

He did it on purpose.

Catch him!
Catch him!

- My lamb.
- So what?

You could help.

- A fine sword!
- Heredity.

You know how to ride, I hope?

I'm better on foot.

Hyah.

Whoo!

Leave it.

- You guessed right off?
- Love's not as blind as they say.

- Where are we going?
- To my father in Paris.

I was just there. I know it well.
I'll accompany you.

Paris is a fickle town,
infested with rogues and scoundrels.

You need protection.

Against whom? You?

- I wonder what Father's like.
- You never saw him?

It was so long ago.

No portrait or medallion?

A soldier never bothers
with such nonsense.

But he's famous.
If I told you his name...

- Try me.
- D'Artagnan.

Of course.

And me...
I'm the son of Richelieu.

Wait for me!

Eloise!
Wait for me!

The army really missed out
on something.

Negroes are in fashion at Court.
Not like Mohammedans.

- What's that?
- We don't know. It's under study.

They have seven wives.
Only their eyes show.

In the Americas, there are
red men called "Redskins."

They grow feathers on their heads.

I love the stories you make up.

It's my trade. I'm a poet.

Eloise.

Oui.

A question.

Oui.

Do you love me?
I mean, truly?

Love is like Mohammedans, Quentin.

I don't quite know it.

It's under study.

Where's the Rue aux Ours?

My last coin. Pray for the plague
to take Mazarin.

I feel like a returning exile.
The weather's always like this?

Always.

Mazarin's work again.
You see why I write my pamphlets?

Let's go. There's a price on my head.
If I'm caught, it's the Bastille.

The cardinal's guard! Make way!

The cardinal's guard!

Stop, thief!

This is it.

I'd prefer to go alone.

The class has started.

What class?

En garde.

En garde.

En garde.

En garde.

En garde.

Constance!

That will be all for today.

- The time isn't up.
- It's up when I say it's up.

Lovely.

Comely.

Graceful.

Charming?

Happy.

For a moment there...

I took you for your mother.

Hey!

You owe me
for your last lessons.

You'll get some chickens.

No more chickens. An ox!

What's this outfit?

Travel clothes.

I'd forgotten how green
your eyes were.

It's all right.

Some convent!

Letting you travel
without paternal approval.

Mother Superior will hear from me.

She's dead.

Dead?

I didn't know she'd been ill.

Planchet! It's our little girl.

- It's Eloise.
- Eloise?

Little Eloise? Our own?

Yes, yes.

You recognised Planchet?

He's aged badly.

But Mother Superior's death doesn't
justify being in Paris alone.

It's crawling with cutthroats.

Men without work,
women without men...

Really, that outfit!

Should I ride with my novice robes
rolled up on my thighs?

After all these years
of neglect, this is my welcome?

Even if your situation is poor.

But my situation is excellent.

Had you opened your arms,
it would seem like a palace.

You can live here.

Planchet has his shop.

He gives me credit
and the best meals.

I'm not here for a banquet, Papa,
but for help.

Help?

Her dying words were,
"Find your father. He will act!"

Naturally.

Naturally.

Mother Superior
was right about that.

But, temporarily,
this isn't quite the moment.

The king?
Refuse his most valiant sword?

The king wants his courtiers
to bow and scrape.

But I have trouble stooping.

Age, no doubt.

I left the king's service...

Against my wishes.

Anyway...

For 20 years I wore
breastplate and jerkin...

And I clung to a rank
beneath my worth.

No advance, no retreat, no life.

After 20 years and a day,

I drank a few bottles
of velvety Vouvray wine...

And went to that ragamuffin
kinglet to speak my mind...

That he was a scamp, a glutton,
an ingrate who betrayed his word.

Jealous of his saviour,
I saved him...

His mother, Mazarin, the lot.

You said all that?

Yes.

Not so much in those words,
but in essence.

- He didn't arrest you?
- I was in command of the musketeers.

I'd personally have had
to order my own arrest.

I'd have disapproved,
and thus disobeyed.

So, my little girl...

Your timing is bad.

It's not my timing!

Mother Superior died
for this document.

Let me see.

This piece of paper?

- Does anyone know?
- I can hold my tongue.

It's a state secret, I'm sure of it.

Looks more like
a laundry list with a blood stain.

A murdered nun, a bloodied Negro...
For a laundry list?

It's a conspiracy!

Black riders,
the woman in red...

No blue unicorn or green dwarf?

If you won't act,
I'll go to the king.

Quentin la Misere, at your service.

- Who is that?
- A poet.

- La Misere is my pen name.
- Look here, monsieur.

You're disrupting
a family reunion. Out!

- As for seeing the king...
- This may not be the moment, sir.

I thought I told you...

I request your daughter's hand.

He's beginning to get on my nerves.
Out!

- Not without a reply.
- 'Ods bodkins! Here's your reply!

- If you kill him...
- Who said "kill"?

In front of my fiancee!
The man's mad!

Think you're d'Artagnan?

I told you.

You just said he was a soldier.

D'Artagnan?

Him? You?

My idol!
I'm one of your greatest admirers.

I wrote a poem to you
on the Bastille wall.

And I'm going to marry his daughter!

No offence, fellow, but vamoose!

D'Artagnan's daughter!

Oh!

Run off with that clown?

And if I marry him?

- I forbid you!
- Then I will marry him.

My little Eloise, be reasonable.

It's normal you fall for the first man
you meet fresh out of convent.

You dumped me in that convent.

Dumped you! Don't say that.

Always on the move,
jump in the saddle, sword in hand!

How could I have raised
a young lady?

You played the hero.

I nearly became a nun
out of boredom!

Horrors!

That's only for the ugly or stupid.

Little Eloise.

How she's grown!

Remember how she'd hide
behind your boots, Captain?

- And now...
- Oh, yes, I remember.

And how, at La Rochelle, I cradled her
under a horse when it rained.

West wind, rainy season.

Eloise, little Eloise.

You mounted the guard while I...

Aged body. Just awful!

Of course it's pointless asking
if your Quentin la Misere is rich.

Were you when you arrived
on your yellow mare?

Ha. My yellow mare.

She was splendid!

How she'd jog along the road to
Meung, chewing daisies.

This is no time for reminiscing.

Past a certain age, child,
that's all you have.

Bad memories you survived...

Good memories you savour.

I have 43 souvenirs.

Aramis' embroidered handkerchief.

Porthos' famous baldric.

A baby tooth
of the soon-to-be Louis XIV...

To whom I fed mush in hard times.

A lock of Athos' hair.
We'd made an exchange.

Athos.

You might have warned me.

My dear Athos.

The earth smells so good.

Remember what Aramis used to say?

"Just part of her charms
to lure us below."

I was counting on you for advice.

Zounds!

What a muddle.

I don't know what to do
with the child.

She's my daughter.

Yes, Eloise. Who else?

If you could only see her.
What a beauty!

The very image of her mother.

Her grace, her style,
and what's more, ardour, spirit.

And a temperament.

But how do I handle her?

A mere word, her claws flash.

Gone, our musketeer days.

The four of us, always together...

Always fighting, never beaten,
our swords always drawn.

I haven't seen Aramis in years.

Porthos has buried himself
in the provinces...

Like you in your hole there.

Egad!

I might have sat on your face.

You never were much of a talker.

Eloise?

Eloise?

You gutless turd!

I entrust her to you,
tell you to protect her...

And you're taken like a novice.

How many were they?

She did it. Little Eloise!

I put up a fight.

How could she?
I locked her in!

She whined, "Good Planchet,
I have a secret to tell you."

So I open the door a bit.
I see a big tear on her little cheek.

The rest is pure guesswork.

She put me out
in the blink of an eye.

Bloody goose!

My little girl!

Where can she have gone?

- Where?
- How should I know? Holy turds!

Face unknown, no leave to pass!

Marquis or no, it's no!

The Duke and Duchess d'Aloigny
de Blecourt and their daughters!

Let them pass!

Make way!

Mr. Ambassador of Spain.
I left my backgammon

to give you some delightful news.

His Majesty has renounced
his alliance

with Mr. Cromwell's England.

You see, you were wrong to worry.

That's not what we'd agreed upon.

His Highness misunderstood me.
It's my horrendous accent.

I'd understood that...

Indeed, you understand so well.

Yesterday, Protestant England
had to be our ally. Bravo.

But today, we receive the ambassador
of very Catholic Spain.

Hence, this treaty
with Cromwell is forgotten.

Isn't that underhanded?

The price of peace.
Underhanded, but efficient.

By renouncing this treaty,
we reassure the Catholic powers.

If we can just keep their armies
immobilised until winter...

Mr. de Turenne
will have time to prepare.

And come the spring, attack!
Surprise! Victory! Bravo again.

- But I signed the treaty with England.
- Indeed.

How can I renounce it then?
It's sheer betrayal.

It was an absolutely secret alliance.

If it's known,
the alliance is worthless.

Thus, His Highness has no scruples
in denying its existence.

And one more reason...

Denying the alliance
makes it secret again,

and thus perfectly valid.

The more I learn,
the more I like politics.

I have a talent for all things.

Only poetry can do justice
to your eyes.

He paid a compliment!

He paid a compliment.

- Mademoiselle.
- Eloise d'Artagnan.

I came on an important matter.

To plead your father's case?

No. He would have come himself.

She blundered.

He dares not come to ask my pardon?

Must he send a messenger?

I, who know all, had no idea
d'Artagnan had a daughter.

He hides you for fear you'd make
too many jealous rivals.

Come into my study.

Play for me. If you lose, you pay.

- And if I win?
- It's mine.

Ah.

Attack a convent!
Nothing commands respect anymore.

They were like mad dogs.

They dared kill a Mother Superior?

Their chief did it
on orders from the woman in red.

Why? One doesn't kill a member
of the clergy without good reason.

There is a reason,
eminence, a conspiracy!

Yes, child, but what conspiracy?

My spies know of eight.

- This makes nine.
- Mama mía!

There was a document.
The Negro came for it.

What document? For whom?

And why a Negro?

Africa! Almighty God!

I already had Europe on my back.

A poor Italian can handle Europe,
but this is too much!

Beware, Mazzarino!

This document is vital
to your understanding of things.

- What kind of document?
- Secret, and in code. Devastating!

The Negro dropped it
when he was captured.

His Eminence must be informed!

Your fear of La Misere
is nearly ended.

You know, the poet who denounces
your greed, taxes, and abuses...

That's enough.
Calumnies.

Who calls you "the green miser"
and "the red shrew"!

- Enough! You have him?
- Just about.

He was foolish enough
to come back to Paris.

We're trailing him.
He's as good as taken.

The Bastille
for Mr. Quentin la Misere!

Now let them try
to accuse me of greed.

I provide free board to my enemies.

So, I presume
you've brought this document.

No. The Mother Superior burned it.

I won't keep you any longer.

The Mother Superior?
You said she was dead.

Yes, but she burned it anyway.

If I hear anything...
Thank you for your precious time.

I'm sure we'll meet again soon.

What strange creatures women are.

We were chatting, she was charming,
and suddenly something bit her!

You knew her father.

In another life, Your Eminence.

Did you notice?

She was about to talk...

And just as I signed,
she turned pale.

The document must be on her.

She saw your signature as clear as
God's writing on the walls of Babylon.

My signature. Yes, my signature.
She recognised my signature.

If I may anticipate your admirable
powers of deduction...

- It means that...
- She's seen it before!

But where?

I sign so many pieces of paper.

On the document.

- The secret document.
- The secret document.

Quick! Catch her!
I must have that document!

I must know which of my secrets
is no longer a secret.

Did the sisters teach you
to disobey your father?

I forbade you to see the king.
Get down!

You're hurting me!
I'll make a scene.

- Mademoiselle is difficult.
- Weren't you?

I wasn't a girl!

Oh!
Zounds!

- Where are you off to?
- To save Quentin.

Cowards! Brutes!

Paws off!

Got it!
The cardinal will be pleased.

Monsieur, you are a boor.

Eloise!

I prefer you dressed
as your sex.

Don't cross swords!

Parade seventh, counter parry.

Quick riposte!

That's the Athos Thrust.

That's the Aramis Thrust.

- Ohh!
- And the Porthos Thrust.

Academic, but never outmoded.

Aaaah!

Don't look away, girl.

Learn to harden the fibre
in your eye now.

True goodness comes of a dry eye...

And a gentle heart.

Isn't this your mother's dress?

I recognise it.

It suits you.

Let's go and have a cleanup.

I have a secret, too.

- The message?
- Still warm from the vixen.

But where is my signature?

An anonymous plot, perchance?

"Dance, butterfly, dance.
Love, damsel, has your glance.

My wings burn all the same
on this wind of flame.

I, a shadow in pain,
haunt your castle in Spain."

Too poor to be a poem.
It's a coded message.

"Wind of flame." A clear threat.

"I, a shadow."
Shadow in French is "ombre."

"Hombre" is Spanish for "man"!

Your Eminence.

The sacked convent is on
the Duke of Crassac's land.

I thought he'd given up conspiracy
for slave trading.

For which he pays his taxes.

I know, but this message...

The mention of Spain...

Pbht!

Trust my experience.

This stinks to high heaven
of conspiracy.

I smell insurrection.

Your gout, Your Eminence.

The pose, Your Eminence.

But we must learn...

...d'Artagnan's part in all this...

And why he sent his daughter.

At 12 fencing lessons a week,

it will take 6 months to pay
for the damage you caused.

But admit there's a plot.

Mazarin is surely involved
with the conspirators.

What a dolt I am!

There was a one-eyed man with him.
It's a sign!

Ever since the serpent in the Garden.

One-eyed serpent?

Yes.
The sisters said so.

But not in the Queen's Jewels Affair.

Always your queen's jewels,
your yellow mare.

Not yellow. It was buttercup.

What of it?

Planchet!

Have you seen my fiance?

A youth said, "I'll come to her
when the moment is ripe."

Is that all?
Gentle Planchet.

Well, I saw him run by
two minutes later

with six of Mazarin's men
on his tail.

- I'm going!
- No, you're not!

If he's your fiance,
you must obey him.

He said he'd come here,
so you must stay.

Go get ready.

Let's talk business, Planchet.

It's time I paid off
an old debt, my friend.

- I owe you 1,000 Livres.
- 2,000 Livres.

2,000? You don't say!

Fine, then. I won't check.

Put four on this table.

What?

You want your money, don't you?

Can't you explain?

No theorising.

The mathematics of finance
are concrete.

4 bags of 1,000 Livres here.

All right.

From the salted pork...

What are you doing?

Doing the combination for my cache.

Here. Salted pork.

Two shelves up, red currants.

Six pots to the right...

Rhubarb honey, three down.

Kippers.

Then nine...

Nine.

Right or left?

Left.

Split peas.

Why not go straight to the peas?

A humble grocer may indulge
a taste for enigma, monsieur.

You asked for 4,000 Livres.

- Here they are.
- Fine!

My debt is paid.
What a relief.

But paid...

Much too late, yes. Forget it.

But these 2,000 Livres, Planchet,

won't gather dust
behind your split peas.

They are your 50 percent stake
in a great undertaking.

Me, 2,000, and you, 2,000.

You flabbergast me, monsieur.
I put out 4,000 Livres.

And I gave you back 2,000.

You put in two, I put in two.

Two and two make four. Simple, no?

Why all the fuss?

We are going to thwart
a conspiracy, Planchet.

I shall receive pardon,
pension, promotion,

which you will share,
but you haggle!

Can't we start again
in front of the girl?

No, no, no, no.

Money matters are never discussed
in the presence of children.

Reason like a philosopher,
not a shopkeeper.

You put up the greater amount.

But I provide my sword,
the resolve to save my skin...

And my friends.

You, the money, me, life.
An equitable split.

Your friends...
But will the adventure tempt Aramis?

And Porthos?

True. Porthos.
Without him...

I doubt that Aramis will be tempted,
as you say.

You'll spoil the blade.

But I hope our old friendship
will win over his reticence.

As for Porthos,
your Westphalian ham, pate,

and goose will do the trick.

No! You already have six pates,
three terrines, and a roast.

We'll find a convent
for you on the way.

Not another convent!

I bring you a conspiracy
on a platter.

I'll see the king, then.

He was fond of me
until I mentioned you.

Did you hear that?

Didn't you learn about French
kings and their maladies?

The pains in Francis II's ear,

Charles IX's head,
Henry III's belly...

But the illness

of the soon-to-be
Louis XIV is the worst...

A heart problem.

He sighs for every beauty
he sees,

and I loathe sighing kings.

So the only remedy...
the convent!

You just want to get rid of me.

Why, of course.

But I'll miss you.

He'll be calm in 5 minutes.

It's just his Gascon temper.
I know his bad moods.

When Richelieu once tried...

Quentin?

Quentin!

Mazarin's henchmen are after me.
I "borrowed" the carriage.

Well-timed!
We can all go in it.

Planchet, ride ahead to Porthos'.

Use your mule and take my horse.

Does Monsieur d'Artagnan think
I'm at his disposal?

Hmm?

Did he honor me
with his presence

at my first wife's funeral?

No.

Did he deign to attend
my second wedding?

My second widowhood? No.

Did he invite me to
the ex-musketeer's banquet

of Monsieur de Trevise?

Treville.

What did I say?

Nothing. It happens.

My good Planchet,
I've scrapped for less than that.

You must remember how touchy I am.

Here's the answer you're to take
to your master.

It's no, damnation!

Let the Gascon come crawling.

The answer will still be
no, no, no...

And no!

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
Do I remember?

The yellow mare,
a canary on four legs.

And her colour
wasn't the worst thing.

- She smelled of garlic.
- Smelled of garlic!

She didn't smell.
Some Sancerre, please, my boy.

She reeked of garlic.

If you don't believe me,
we can ask Aramis.

Oh, Aramis.

Your Grace!
Your Grace!

Away with the intruders!
Never disturb a bishop's meditations.

But, Your Grace, the gentlemen insist.

Well, Aramis?
Must we break down your door?

God almighty!

You, out!
Off with these!

I want a lightning poison...
lightning!

That strikes like a divine curse.
Yours takes three hours!

I can make it two.

No! I don't want it liquid.
I want it edible.

This damned lab of evil
costs me a fortune.

I want results!

An ointment.
I touch you, you're dead.

Easily said, my lord.

You're a doctor!

Killing people is no problem.

I feel distracted,
as if Mazarin is here...

Watching us.

Be calm, Clovis.

It happens to men of your calibre.

Anxiety before triumph.

Triumph, certainly.

But why the cardinal's interest
in a far-off convent?

All those missives and queries...

And I'm out of carrier pigeons.

The Mother Superior
wouldn't die quietly.

She recognised me.

Goddamn!

An inquest will expose me...

And me means you.

We must set things in order.

"In order"? You mean...

A clean sweep.

You can't mean...

Clean.
No more witnesses.

But that dago cur has spies.

Mazzarino will send an emissary.

He never acts
without sizing up the risks.

He's a man of reflection.

You're a man of action.

A man of action. True!

I keep forgetting.
Shall we?

"Castle in Spain."
"Castle in Spain." No.

"Dance, butterfly, dance.
Love, damsel..."

I'm sure there's neither love
nor damsels.

Three days and not a clue!
Riccardo!

Riccardo! You cracked
the Pope's last code.

- What kind of team is this?
- We are doing our best.

But you read the pope's cipher!

The pope's cipher... rubbish!

A stupid cipher, simplicity itself.

Replacing vowels by consonants
and vice versa.

With every 7th letter.
Child's play.

I'm no amateur, Monsignori.

But this is terrifying and infernal.

This is something new.

Something new.

"My wings burn."

We've tried, Your Eminence.
It's not invisible ink.

Crassac's pigeon has arrived.

He says a ship was driven
towards land by a storm.

Escaped Negro. Pursuit to a convent.

A blunder.

A blunder?

A blunder.

A Mother Superior murdered.

Your Crassac takes me for an idiot.

His answer is so stupid,
it confirms my suspicions.

The man's trafficking
more than slaves.

To traffic without me
is to traffic against me.

Here is proof of its gravity.

Everyone knows I am for sale.

Not trying to buy me

means he wants not
a piece of the cake,

but the whole cake.

He wants my place!

None of that. No, no. Grazie.

Believe me, the key is here.
To work, gentlemen!

Almost finished, I think.

"4 frocks, 8 sols, 3 liards,"
which gives us...

Jeremiah 48:3, verse 7.

Fifth word, again...

"Choronaim."

Voila.

Choronaim.

Let's read it over.

"Choronaim. Rosary.
Angelic. Septuagint.

Serenity. Astral. Camel."

- "Camel"! Obscure.
- And "Choronaim"?

- Who is Choronaim?
- A country, my friend.

Never mistake Piraeus for a man.
We're close.

We simply refer
to Father Joseph's Code...

Jeremiah, prophecy of Moab.

With a little effort,

we should deduce
the meaning of this.

Serenity.

"Angelic Septuagint"...
It's a poetical conspiracy.

No, stop!

Boar's head won't allow red
partridge to go down first.

It turns the stomach,
and onions won't mix with truffles.

But you do put artichokes
in your pate?

Always.

A layer on the bottom, salt,
pepper, three strips of bacon,

second layer in the middle,
the rest on top.

So why worry?
The artichokes will get it all down.

What if it's just a laundry list?

D'Artagnan, you reason
like a noodle, my friend.

Would Mazarin have sent
his henchmen

after a mere laundry list?

Study it carefully.

Above, on the left.

Through the stain you can read
"Holland" and then "coifs."

I still read "Holland cloth."

"Holland" means United Provinces,

Thus Spain, as they belong
to the Spanish Crown,

The enemy of England.

It's irrefutable,
except for the camel.

We leave for the convent
to resolve the matter.

Speaking of which, Eloise...

She'll join us.
She's seen the aggressor.

Her aid is invaluable.

Quentin, I'm going.

Quentin.

Quentin.

You poor Misere.

It's your loss.

Imagine we are at Reims
in the cathedral.

Here is the prince,

his brother, his mother,
the cardinal,

Ourselves.

Here, the Bishop of Soissons,

holding the Holy Vial

for which our monk
will have substituted this.

The bishop, gloved,
begins the unctions.

The young king falls dead.

Some will see in it the hand
of God. Others, the Devil.

But none must see ours.

No sooner poor Louis'
death certified,

the cardinal is executed
as the culprit,

the king's brother
proclaimed heir,

and I appointed his protector...

By you.

All of you, are we agreed?

But the accident?
The fatal Holy Unction?

What exactly is it?

L'acqua misteriosa...
A pitiless, irremediable poison.

Borgia style.

Death within moments
from mere skin contact.

The poison.

The supplier.

- There are seven?
- Yes, my lord.

Forehead, temples, eyes...

Ah.

You knew too much, my poor friend.

He knew too much.
Too much.

But my sweet little wife...

Don't worry.
I have someone for her...

Someone of quality...

Better than you.

We meet again by the cloister
of Chazeilles

on the eve of the coronation

as guests of our poor
once and never king.

We could have kept the carriage.
More comfortable.

Where's the panache, Porthos?

We can't leave it all to Cyrano.

Faster, gentlemen.

She's bossy.

When we get there,
I'll handle the sisters.

If they resist,
I'll hear their confession.

You missed a delicious sight
last night.

A sight?

Mm-hmm.

Something you may never see again.

Like the comet.

Onward, gentlemen, onward.

My horse is on its last legs.

Mine is fading fast.

Change horses?
Impossible.

I let out my last ones
just an hour ago.

I have connections in high places.

Just what my last client said.

Just as connected and just
as rushed, but one-eyed.

One-eyed?
The man I told you about!

One-eyed? How?

Only one eye.

It's him.
We'll find horses.

You mean we're not stopping?

I wish I could be of service, but...

- One-eyed?
- Exactly.

- No horses?
- Exactly.

Let's eat. I'm hungry.

Excellent idea.

And prepare our rooms.

The thing is, my lords...

- You're closed?
- Exactly.

And the reason?

It's Wednesday.

And so?

So, Sunday is the coronation.

I never close, except for coronations.

Easy, Bishop.

I'm good in the arms room.

But when I cross swords
with an adversary,

I sometimes feel faint.

Oversensitive, perhaps?

Oversensitive.
What a shame.

It deprives me of certain
exquisite delights.

That's how I am.

Do you imagine I came all this way
to admire your fencing skills?

I know all!

It's no use.
We have the message.

What message?

"Dance, butterfly, dance.

Love, damsel, has your glance.
My wings burn."

Sounds familiar?

No. A song, maybe?
They write such idiocies today.

Show some good will, Crassac.

We'll shut our eyes
on the sacked convent.

Know this secret thrust?

Secret? The Cahuzac Twist.

You know it?
And this one?

Aah!

No, no, no.

It only works
with the sun behind you.

I learned that at 20.
The Nemours Slink.

Crassac, give me the code,
and I'll teach you a trick.

Kill two men in 6 steps.

Goddamn! I hate to swear.
I get emotional.

But if I knew anything...
On the Bible!

Ah, don't sully the Bible!

What do you want?

I'm the cardinal's agent, my lord.

I spy.

I probe.
I negotiate.

How odd.

Negroes going to the boat, yes,
but carrying sacks away.

- Sacks of what?
- Huh?

Nothing.
Just a dear friend's idea.

Eglantine de Rochefort?

Indeed, you know everything.

Small traffic, small interests.
I'll look away.

But this conspiracy?
All France knows.

All France!

Don't tell a soul.

Here is our
dear cardinal's share.

Four pistols per head shipped.

1,600 doubloons.

All accounted for. Receipt?

Not among folks of bad faith.

Won't you dine with us?

With pleasure. May I?

- Pigeons?
- All gone!

Mazarin!

Mazarin! I can do as I please
with Mazarin.

I've placed my whole family...
a royal architect,

an artillery master
who can melt bells down,

a chief hospital pharmacist of Paris.

Interested in an embassy?

I always dreamed
of melting down bells.

Fine. It's yours.

Let's play a game now.

I name three conspirators,
and you give me three.

Fair enough? No cheating, now.

If we agree, whatever you wish,

excepting the Queen Mother's hand,
reserved for Mazarin.

So, now...

Crassac de Merindol.

Eglantine de Rochefort.

You, my dear.

Turenne.

Turenne's not part
of the conspiracy.

What conspiracy?

That's all you talk about.
There is none.

True.

We live far afield
of all conspiracies.

Country life is so tedious
after the last Angelus.

Do have some more clafoutis.

"I write of our exploits
in my own blood."

- It's red ink.
- Poetic license.

I haven't slept in the open
since the siege of La Rochelle.

You were 20 years younger.

Ha! 20 years and a bit.

I don't think I've changed.

I mean it.

I hope you didn't have picnics
on the road back then.

She's very irritating.

Since you're so hardy, Eloise,
go water the horses.

Eloise, my boots, my buckle.
Eloise, the horses.

Enough, mademoiselle!

She's young.

At her age, Mary had a son.
And what a son!

But the Holy Ghost fixed that up.

Come, now.

Dinner's ready.
I hope you aren't too hungry.

- Coming. Quentin?
- He stays.

Convent was better.

You'll be back there in no time!
Hear me? Tomorrow!

Unworthy father.

You dare!
In front of friends, a stranger!

It's the truth!
Unworthy father.

Eloise!

Unworthy father!

And I'd dreamed of finding you.

What I like in desserts is the pastry.

Creams take up too much room
in your belly.

One-eyed whore-son!

A miracle decoction.
You'll see.

I bring the African grain
with the Negroes.

"Kahve" in Turkey.
In Venice, it's caffe.

As for me, a dear friend's idea,
I want all rights for France.

I import it and market it.

An insomniac brew,
a reverse soporific.

No more bad dreams,
nor good ones.

No more wasted time sleeping.
And habit-forming!

An entire nation with cups
and you the only supplier.

Taste it!
Taste it!

Dreadful colour, interesting smell.

Ah.

Ah, yes, yes, yes, yes!

The traffic! The sacks!

Yes, yes, yes, yes!
Monopoly!

I'll help you market it.

6 percent for the cardinal,
4 percent for me.

Too much.
Much too much.

- Perhaps. 5 percent each, then.
- That's reasonable.

Of course...

Any party's death annuls the deal.

- Of course.
- Of course.

Not that your chattering bores me,

but I have a house to run.

I must see to our laundresses.

At this hour?

Full moon, full wash.

I understand.
Go on, then.

Clean up!

A clean sweep, my dear.

A stickler for cleanliness.

They're raised in convents,
and the habit sticks.

The kawa goes nicely
with our own spirits.

Armagnac 1572.

Saint Bartholemy. A good year.

I never want to see him again
even if he thinks me dead.

Let's wait till dawn at least.
We might get lost.

You don't have to come.

A river.
Do we turn back?

Never!
The convent is just beyond.

No bridge?

Too far.

Hurry up!

I can't swim.

No need to.
Just stay on your horse.

I'm not marrying a coward.

It's the horse who's a coward.

It's cold.

Writing in your breviary?

Important thoughts and appointments.

What's that?

The message.
I'll make it yield its arcanum yet.

Arcanum?

Yes, its secret, the mystery.

It's an alchemic term.

Strange how the first letter in
each word forms another word.

Really?

Crassac.

Crassac?

Choronaim. "C."
Rosary. "R."

Until you get Crassac.

Egad! Crassac!

Naturally. Crassac.

My little girl.

Eloise. She was right!

Eloise!

My little girl, you were right!

They'll make up now.

Children are horribly ungrateful.

Which is why I never wanted any.

I was to preach
at the Divine Atonement today.

Mauve dresses, blue bonnets.
Scents of jasmine.

That's for sure.

He's going to apologise.

Eloise...

Gone.
To your horses, gentlemen.

Up, Planchet!

What now?

Eglantine de Rochefort, yes.

And you?

D'Artagnan.
Eloise d'Artagnan.

Why are you here?

You're here to erase all trace
of your crimes.

Mother Therese talked too much.

So do you.

Eloise?

Eloise?

Eloise, sulking?

"6 Holland coifs...

2 linen shirts."

A laundry list, that's all.

To the château with the others!

Eloise!

Eloise!

What a drop! Ohh! Ohh!

Eloise!

Eloise!

Wrong convent, maybe?

No, but we're too late.

D'Artagnan.

Quentin. 'Ods bodkins!

So, monsieur,
you abduct my daughter!

I fell from a window.

Where is Eloise?

The woman in red...
It hurts!

She's her prisoner.

But you're not.

Because I can't swim.

A prisoner where?

If the woman in red is Crassac's tool,

she's in his castle.

- Find it...
- And we find Eloise, right?

Yes.

All the chateaus around here
belong to his lordship.

Crassac-le-Petit.
Crassac-le-Vieux.

Crassac-sur-Begaule.

Crassac-le-Sec.
Crassac-la-Source.

Isn't there one
in which he usually lives?

- Lord, yes.
- Which one, then?

Ah, yes. Which one?

Here's the cargo, Captain.

40 pistols.

You negotiate per head?

To each his specialty.
I'm good with Negroes.

But with nuns, I'm shaky.
This one's too skinny.

No one likes thin women
in the Americas?

And I don't sell by weight.

60 then, but I take a loss.

This one, for nothing.

- A gift.
- A gift?

I have my reasons.

Eglantine de Rochefort.

Eglantine de Rochefort, yes.

Whom you punished
for stealing a biscuit,

whipped for insolence,

and expelled for eyeing the confessor
you were jealous of.

A gift, but on one condition.

That she be sold to a Redskin.

They're affectionate, I hear.

To a Redskin?

Aah!

That won't be easy.

40 pistols.

50.

You...

You're worth gold.

300.

300? I'll never sell her!

Complain!

You're not selling this
little marvel at a discount!

Crassac de Merindol.

Eloise d'Artagnan.

The famous... He had a daughter?
But with whom?

My mother, you butcher!

- She's splendid.
- She bites.

Bites? Goddamn!
Let me see her teeth.

What spirit! What cheek!

What a waste.

I'll take her.

I'm done for.

Angels, now?

What I need now is some strong kawa.

Strong, very strong.

In your estimation,
Aramis, how many men?

100.120.

Say, 150.

I'll deliver the woman I love.

I volunteer.

You volunteer?

To cross enemy lines and get help.

But there are no enemy lines,
my boy, and the help is us.

What about me?

Watch and pray.

All right.

After you...

You're sure there's no easier way in?

I remember visiting the Loire chateau

with my second wife.

Excuse me.

I was fed up.

But today is worse.

They're too old for this.

Oh, Lord.
I hope I don't look too foolish.

Aramis...
By the strength of your hand.

But, sadly, the strength
of one's hand weakens

with the hand.

Did you hear singing?

Did I hear singing?

It's the sort of thing you
imagine when your belly's empty.

Odd. I could have sworn
I heard Psalm 70.

Ohh!

Monsieur d'Artagnan,

stop dropping stones
on my head, please!

Monsieur Du Vallon,
I'm doing what I can, blast it!

What's that up there?

Monsieur, I'm coming down.
Out of my way.

Such impudence, monsieur.
We have priority.

We're going up.

It's hard enough.

Going down is worse.

That voice!

The one-eyed man!

Mazarin's man.

One-eyed man?

Yes, monsieur.
On special and secret mission.

A ghost!

Athos!

Athos!

Athos!

You? I'm going up.

Splendid idea.

Ohh!

Athos!

How can it be?

I wept at your grave.

D'Artagnan!

Dear friend,
I often held mass for you.

I can explain.

Porthos! Porthos!

Where's Porthos?

The castle is deserted.

You hear me?
The castle is deserted!

No sign of Eloise.

Zounds! My child!

The one-eyed man.

Where?

This is worse than the Loire.

How about a bite to eat?

Good idea.

Will someone explain to me
what we're doing here?

We're trying to find
my daughter!

She's with the others.

What others?

The habits! The bigots!

The little sisters, if you don't mind!

The little sisters or the good sisters.

If you prefer.

But where are they?

It's cold, but...

Ah, coffee!

I had some in... Venice.

Good for the memory.

Here, have a sip.

You really get used to it.

I thought of opening shops
with some partners

and holding a monopoly.

I can see them!

See whom?

The habits, bigots.
The good sisters. There!

I knew I'd find them.

Nothing escapes me.

Captain, about those 4,000 Livres.

Not now, Planchet!

Into the hold with those damned nuns!

The moorings!

Raise the gangplank!

Heroic, but absurd.

Grab that!

I can't fence.

It's simple.
You point it and punch.

It works! Read this.

- Not now! What is it?
- Laundry list.

What of it?

Our message was just a laundry list.

That makes me angry!

Eloise!

Eloise!

One moment. Isn't someone singing?

A holy sword, my son.

I did hear singing.

Exasperating, eh?

Enough.

Say.

- Not always the same eye?
- No.

No more one-eyed than dead!

It's an espionage technique.

Improves the eyesight.

Aaah!

I'm looking for Eloise d'Artagnan.

- Who's calling?
- Her fiance.

Do you have something sharp?

To do what with?

Are you the bishop?

It depends. What about?

Confession. Urgent.

It's possible.

Gentlemen, let me show you
something you won't see often.

Watch closely.

The Montparnasse Viper!

But how?

I said watch!
I'll start again.

Eloise!

- She's in good hands for good!
- How's that?

Aaah!

Prepare your soul for God, monsieur.

Prepare your own, my Gascon friend.

I'm wounded.

I die.

Eloise.

Oh!

But where can Eloise be?

I know where.

Bargas man... I heard his
dying confession. I know all.

Then speak up!

I will if you give me Eloise's hand.

If you love her, speak up!

Her hand before witnesses!

That's blackmail!

Yes.

Thunderation! Speak or...

It's up to you, Gascon.
Porthos is right.

All right. Speak, my son-in-law.

Just a moment!

The dead man, before dying,
asked for a priest?

I'm a priest.

You usurped my role.

- You were busy.
- Call!

The man was dying.

He could wait!

His words were meant for me.
I have priority. Step aside.

As touchy as ever.

He hasn't changed.

Remember the kerchief of...

Don't remind me!

I suspect he's milking the in-law.

Correct me if I'm wrong.
Eloise is prisoner of Crassac?

She learned a secret?

- A conspiracy.
- I'm listening.

To kill the king.

But that's so dated.

Not since Henry IV.
It's mad.

Then again, Crassac's mad. Speak.

Before the coronation at Reims,
there's Chazeilles.

- The prince holds court.
- The monastery.

We foil the plot, the king is crowned,
rewards d'Artagnan and you.

I want the diocese of Angoulême,
Cognacq, and Jarnac.

- How can I...?
- You'll have the ear of the court.

A word here, a word there.
Agreed?

Angoulême, Cognacq, and...

Jarnac?

Jarnac. Exactly.

Not the same eye?

Not always.

A question of technique.

I authorise him to speak.

It's more than Eloise's abduction.

- What else?
- The king's murder.

The king? The king?

And my daughter?

In the cloister at Chazeilles.

- Chazeilles!
- Chazeilles!

There goes my back!

Say, isn't his patch on the wrong eye?

Could be.

Never fear, child.
You're a hostage.

A man of sense
never abuses a hostage.

If you have any sense.

And witty! I simply love wit.

I'll adopt and marry her.

Never!

A mere jest.
What did you think?

Clovis!

Don't you ever sleep?

Why should I sleep?

To rest, to dream.

My dreams are worse than my life.

I know. Mr. Labedie...

What about him?

You shouldn't have poisoned him.

He was a monster.

He once raped me.

Condemned for prostitution,
fugitive from women's prison.

So you know that, too.

Mother Therese told you?

No.

She was fond of you.

In her fashion,
she was fond of you.

I read about it in the register.

I read the pages you tore out.

No one could sleep who'd done
what was described there.

What's nice about hemorrhoids is,
you forget the rheumatism.

Onward, gentlemen!

One moment.

May I?

Do me this honor.

Aaah!

Ingrate!

Tomorrow France calls you king.

May I dare to anticipate
this reality by a few hours?

Allow me to repeat some counsel
for this interview...

Our last probably.

Be grand.

Be superb.

Be alone.

Entrust affairs to the hard worker...

Even if inferior to the more brilliant,
flattering mind.

Take Colbert,
or Louvois if you prefer.

Win over Turenne.
Go to Vauban.

Not Conde nor Rohan.
Too haughty.

- Gondi?
- No.

Too crafty.
Capito?

Paris is a city of whim and vanity.

Live elsewhere.
All who matter will come to you.

Versailles would be fine.

As for women...

Yes, you love them to excess.

Not that you love too much,
but too many, and all at once.

Above all,
give your heart to none.

She'll sit on it like a throne.

You can't wed
both England and Spain.

Take one, your brother, the other.

Monsieur?

Yes, it's odd enough
calling him "monsieur."

Odder still to see him wed.

But good for the kingdom...

Those rings on its enemies' fingers.

Ah, yes, the style.

You needn't invent one.
Louis Treize will do fine.

Yet we might embellish things,
with sculpture and gilding...

Trust me. Louis Treize.

We will see.

Just trying to keep up appearances.

Why aren't you loved, Mr. Cardinal?

Had I been loved,
I might have seen myself King...

Not the state.

Can't one be State and King?

Decide for yourself later.

I am the king.
I am the state.

I shall miss you.

I humbly conclude
that you are letting me go.

I have always held you
in affection, my prince.

And I have admired you.

That is less gentle.

Today I like you more.

I forgot the Edict of Nantes.

Never revoke the Edict of Nantes.

I saw the royal carriage.
Mazarin's...

And hordes of troops.

The king's security. It's normal.

And Crassac's guardsmen.

Not so normal.

It confirms Eloise's presence.

My friends...

I've made a decision.

I got you into this mad venture.

I let my child fall
into the hands of rogues.

I am responsible.

I will save her, alone.

No!

Alone!

Every door and hallway
is under guard.

I have a plan.

For Eloise! For France!

For the king.

What a Gascon.

Remember his yellow mare?

- Twenty years ago.
- Twenty and a bit.

- What colour mare?
- Yellow. Why?

Oh, Louis!
What a pity, this crown.

Don't give me up.
You say I screw like a queen.

Service and silence.

Oh, Louis! Louis!

Eloise?

How dare you!

Raised in a convent, and you
give in to the first passerby!

Oh, pox-turd.
Oh, whore-son.

Oh, Majesty.

Were you no Negro. I'd think...

Himself. Myself.

D'Artagnan?

Alas, Majesty!

I played hoops with Eloise,
Monsieur d'Artagnan.

Madam, our interview is postponed.

Return to the bed a young lady
should never have left.

Even kings can be boors.

Halt! You'll soil everything.

You disturb my duty of State.

With good reason, Majesty.

I seek the person most dear to me...

After my king...

Eloise-Adelaide-Jeanne
d'Artagnan. My daughter.

In a monastery?

Where she is prisoner.

Under my roof?

Majesty, pardon.
I heard noise and came running.

Mr. d'Artagnan has just
given me terrible news.

You've gone grey with age.

This is not time for child's play!

A plot's afoot.
Against King, State! Me!

I know. My best one-eyed spy
is on the case.

"12 Holland coifs..."

No. Tell him.

Just a laundry list.
An error of interpretation.

Really?

Then how about,
"Dance, butterfly, dance"?

Not that either.

A poem by my future son-in-law.

- Yes?
- Yes, sir. Yes.

Your police, one-eyed spies,
and pigeons cost me a fortune.

And the one real plot
escapes your notice!

- What's the aim?
- The death of a fine, young king...

And a clever minister.

When?

Tomorrow. Here.

He gave me a list.
Dukes, dukes, and more dukes.

Appalling!

100 blades of crime lurk.

You saved the throne before.

Back in a time
when I wasn't in disgrace.

His Majesty pardons you.

Stop doing my work for me!

I pardon you, Captain.

Would His Majesty have a...

I'm not asking for the moon.

You took Justice.
You, the Navy. You, Finance.

Well, I want Flanders.

I'm a master of the hunt.
The rabbits there are huge.

It's yours!
But not Alsace or Lorraine.

They were always promised me!

Enough, my lords,
or you'll be lords no more!

Keep singing.
And slightly off-key!

I pay you to divert suspicion.

Yes, my lord,
but remember your promise.

The Ursulines convent
and all Chaillot revenues.

How's that, Chaillot?

Shh!

- But my nephew!
- Sir!

Sing, goddamn you!

Gentlemen, friends,
unity is our only chance.

Forget personal interests.

Not dispersal among ten,
but unity around one.

Yourself?

Naturally this is my operation.

This dynasty is worn out.

I'll find another with new blood.

I plan a great union with a virgin.

Minor nobility, great sword.

Her name?

Eloise d'Artagnan.

Crassac wants to marry you.

Is it my fault? I refuse.

Today, perhaps. But tomorrow?

He'd always promised me
wealth, power, and love.

You love that fool?

And why not?

Happiness is all around him.

He's not merely a fool,
but a happy fool.

And so near the throne.

And I sell myself for a crown?

If he leaves me, I'm lost.

I know life.

There are the good and the wicked.

One can change.

True.

The good can become wicked.

Never the contrary.

If you kill me, I'll haunt you, too.

Why kill you?

Oblivion is enough.

The cloister is famous
for its oubliettes.

"Oubliette."

A charming word, no?

Sounds like a delicacy.

Or a pleasantry.

No. You wouldn't dare.

It's too late.

Things were simpler once...
humiliation, vengeance, poison.

But now you're lost.

You're frightened.

Don't provoke me.

If you help me, you'll be less lonely.

You are all invited to my
wedding to Eloise d'Artagnan.

In Paris at my Louvre palace.

What wedding?

The man is lying.
I'm Eloise!

I'll never wed this assassin!

Goddamn.
Who the devil set you free?

But whatever for?

I'd marry her,
but you'd remain my favourite.

That's damn good.

En garde, my lord!
I defy you before God.

Crassac?

I'm not going to fight a child.

One, two. I skew!

- Where are you, Father?
- Here, daughter!

Hurts, doesn't it?

That message of yours
was a laundry list.

And this isn't a conspiracy?

Exasperating, eh?

She always has to be right.

Because I am.

Don't forget what I taught you, Eloise!

Everyone knows this secret thrust.

You need the sun behind you.

Where's the sun? You fool.

The insult is a bit much.

Would you be using a longer blade?

What a waste.
You threw it all away.

Half my coffee monopoly...

My name...

And now, little goose, pay.

Refuse the honor
of becoming a Crassac,

if only from the waist down.

Goddamn, you threw it all away.

What's this?

A dubious blow, Captain.

She's my daughter, my lord.

Daughters.

Yes, of course...

His daughter.

Look, Eloise. They're reassured.

We've removed the danger.

The court returns to its king
like pigs in the trough.

Ah, well.

I'm worn out.

Exhausted.

I'm done for, child.

You're in pain?

In pain? All over.

Even in places
I never suspected existed.

You gave me a fright.

You fought men who
weren't beginners. I knew them.

Cavagnac, 16 official victories.

Jusseaume the Elder, 26.

Percepied, 30 at least.

- A real fright.
- You gave me a fright, too.

Me?

Even rusty, I'm still a great sword.

And I was proud.

Proud? Of me?

Really?

Proud of me?

I'm not blind.

You were lovely against the light.

So dazzling, so alive.

Know what I'd like?

What?

To see you in a dress.

No.

If only for the coronation.

It's more suitable.

Are you against the ceremony?

There's an idea.
No coronation. We go home.

We discuss my plans.

You have plans?

To settle down,
a girl should sew. You don't.

You can't cook,
embroider, make jam.

Jam I can make.

The old way?

I can always fight.

I forbid you.

- The king will use me.
- As what?

Specialist in conspiracy.
I can foil them.

You only invent them.

No, I uncover them.

No, you unhatch them.

No, I find them.

Imagine them!

- Unmask them!
- Dream them!

- Spy, subdue, smother them.
- Oh, Eloise!

Papa!

Eloise d'Artagnan.

Quentin, my fiance.

To whom I'll be true, I think.

You know my father.

Captain d'Artagnan, at your service.

My friends.

Athos.

Porthos.

Aramis.

Eglantine de Rochefort.

Duke of Crassac,
Count of Merindol.

I can't remember.
History will judge.

It already has.

It was 4,000 Livres.