Part 24

— We are going, on behalf of the king, to make some great proposition to Athos.

— Pooh! said Aramis.

— Say nothing to me, added the good Porthos, trying to brace himself solidly enough to avoid the jolts; say nothing to me, I shall guess.

— Well! that is it, my friend, guess, guess.

They arrived toward nine o'clock in the evening at Athos's, beneath a magnificent moonlight.

This admirable brightness rejoiced Porthos beyond all expression; but Aramis showed himself inconvenienced by it to an almost equal degree. He gave some sign of this to Porthos, who answered him:

— Good! I guess again. The mission is secret.

Those were his last words in the carriage.

The driver interrupted them with these:

— Gentlemen, you have arrived.

Porthos and his companion got down before the door of the little château.

It is there that we are going to find again Athos and Bragelonne, both disappeared since the discovery of La Vallière's infidelity.

If there is a word full of truth, it is this: great sorrows contain within themselves the germ of their own consolation.

Indeed, this painful wound inflicted upon Raoul had drawn his father nearer to him, and God knows how sweet were the consolations that flowed from the eloquent mouth and generous heart of Athos.

The wound had not closed; but Athos, by dint of conversing with his son, by dint of mingling a little of his own life into the young man's, had ended by making him understand that this pain of a first infidelity is necessary to every human existence, and that no one has loved without knowing it.

Raoul often listened, he did not hear. Nothing replaces, in a heart vividly smitten, the memory and the thought of the beloved object. Raoul then answered his father:

— Monsieur, all that you tell me is true; I believe that no one has suffered as much as you through the heart; but you are a man too great in intelligence, too tried by misfortunes, not to permit weakness to the soldier who suffers for the first time. I am paying a tribute that I shall not pay twice; permit me to plunge so deep into my sorrow, that I forget myself therein, that I drown even my reason in it.

— Raoul! Raoul!

— Listen, monsieur; never shall I grow accustomed to this idea, that Louise, the chastest and most naive of women, could so basely deceive a man as honest and as loving as I am; never shall I be able to resolve to see that sweet and good mask change into a hypocritical and lascivious face. Louise lost! Louise infamous! Ah! monsieur, that is far crueller to me than Raoul abandoned, than Raoul unhappy!

Athos then employed the heroic remedy. He defended Louise against Raoul, and justified her perfidy by her love.

— A woman who had yielded to the king because he is the king, said he, would deserve the name of infamous; but Louise loves Louis. Both young, they have forgotten, he his rank, she her vows. Love absolves all, Raoul. The two young people love each other with frankness.

And, when he had given this stab, Athos saw, sighing, Raoul start under the cruel wound, and flee to the thickest of the wood or take refuge in his chamber, from which, an hour later, he came out pale, trembling, but subdued. Then, returning to Athos with a smile, he kissed his hand, like the dog that, having just been beaten, caresses a good master to atone for its fault. Raoul, for his part, listened only to his weakness, and avowed only his pain.

Thus passed the days that followed that scene in which Athos had so violently shaken the king's indomitable pride. Never, in talking with his son, did he allude to that scene; never did he give him the details of that vigorous outburst which might perhaps have consoled the young man by showing him his rival abased. Athos would not have the offended lover forget the respect due to the king.

And when Bragelonne, ardent, furious, sombre, spoke with contempt of the royal words, of the equivocal faith that certain fools draw from the promise fallen from the throne; when, traversing two centuries with the rapidity of a bird that crosses a strait to pass from one world to another, Raoul came to predict the time when kings should seem smaller than men, Athos said to him in his serene and persuasive voice:

— You are right, Raoul; all that you say will come to pass: kings will lose their prestige, as the stars that have run their course lose their brightness. But, when that moment comes, Raoul, we shall be dead; and remember well what I tell you: in this world, all must live in the present, men, women, and kings; we ought to live according to the future only for God.

Such was the subject of the converse, as always, between Athos and Raoul, as they paced the long lime-tree walk in the park, when suddenly rang the little bell that served to announce to the count either the hour of the meal or a visit. Mechanically and without attaching importance to it, he turned back with his son, and the two found themselves, at the end of the walk, face to face with Porthos and Aramis.

Chapter CCXXXII — The Last Farewells

Raoul uttered a cry of joy and clasped Porthos tenderly in his arms. Aramis and Athos embraced as old men. This embrace was itself a question for Aramis, who, immediately:

— Friend, said he, we are not to be with you for long.

— Ah! said the count.

— The time, interrupted Porthos, to tell you of my happiness.

— Ah! said Raoul.

Athos silently looked at Aramis, whose already sombre air had seemed to him but little in harmony with the good news of which Porthos spoke.

— What is the happiness that comes to you? Come, asked Raoul smiling.

— The king makes me a duke, said the good Porthos with mystery, bending to the young man's ear; duke by patent!

But Porthos's asides always had vigour enough to be heard by everyone; his murmurs were at the pitch of an ordinary roar.

Athos heard and uttered an exclamation that made Aramis start.

The latter took Athos's arm, and, after asking Porthos's permission to speak apart for a few moments:

— My dear Athos, said he to the count, you see me overwhelmed with grief.

— With grief? cried the count. Ah! dear friend!

— This is it, in two words: I have made, against the king, a conspiracy; this conspiracy has failed, and, at this very hour, they are no doubt seeking me.

— They are seeking you!... a conspiracy!... Why, my friend, what are you telling me?

— A sad truth. I am simply ruined.

— But Porthos... this title of duke... what is all that?

— That is the subject of my keenest sorrow; that is the deepest of my wounds. Believing in an infallible success, I dragged Porthos into my plot. He gave himself to it, as you know how he gives himself, with all his strength, knowing nothing; and today he is so compromised with me, that he is lost as I am.

— My God!

And Athos turned toward Porthos, who smiled pleasantly at them.

— I must make you understand all. Listen to me, continued Aramis.

And he told the story that we know.

Athos felt, several times during the recital, his brow grow moist with sweat.

— It is a great idea, said he; but it was a great fault.

— For which I am punished, Athos.

— So I shall not tell you my whole thought.

— Speak it.

— It is a crime.

— Capital, I know it. Lèse-majesté!

— Porthos! poor Porthos!

— What would you have me do? Success, I told you, was certain.

— M. Fouquet is an honest man.

— And I am a fool, to have judged him so ill, said Aramis. Oh! the wisdom of men! oh! immense millstone that grinds a world, and that, one day, is stopped by the grain of sand that falls, no one knows how, into its works!

— Say by a diamond, Aramis. In short, the mischief is done. What do you intend to become?

— I am taking Porthos away. Never will the king be willing to believe that the worthy man acted naively; never will he be willing to believe that Porthos thought to serve the king in acting as he did. His head would pay for my fault. I will not have it.

— You are taking him away, where?

— To Belle-Île, first. It is an impregnable refuge. Then I have the sea and a ship to cross, either to England, where I have many connections...

— You? in England?

— Yes. Or else to Spain, where I have even more...

— In exiling Porthos, you ruin him, for the king will confiscate his goods.

— All is foreseen. Once in Spain, I shall know how to reconcile myself with Louis XIV and bring Porthos back into favour.

— You have credit, as I see, Aramis! said Athos with a discreet air.

— Much, and at the service of my friends, friend Athos.

These words were accompanied by a sincere pressure of the hand.

— Thank you, replied the count.

— And, since we are thus far, said Aramis, you too are a malcontent; you too, Raoul too, you have grievances against the king. Follow our example. Pass over to Belle-Île. Then we shall see... I guarantee to you on my honour that, within a month, war will have broken out between France and Spain, on the subject of that son of Louis XIII, who is also an infante, and whom France detains inhumanly. Now, as Louis XIV will not want a war made for that motive, I guarantee you a transaction whose result will give the grandeeship to Porthos and to me, and a duchy in France to you, who are already grandee of Spain. Will you?

— No; I, I had rather have something to reproach the king with; it is a pride natural to my race to claim superiority over royal races. Doing what you propose, I should become the king's obliged; I should gain by it certainly on this earth, I should lose by it in my conscience. Thank you.

— Then, give me two things, Athos: your absolution...

— Oh! I give it to you, if you have really wished to avenge the weak and the oppressed against the oppressor.

— That suffices me, replied Aramis with a blush that faded in the night. And now give me your two best horses to reach the second post, seeing that they have refused me some under pretext of a journey that M. de Beaufort is making in these parts.

— You shall have my two best horses, Aramis, and I commend Porthos to you.

— Oh! be without fear. One word more: do you find that I am manoeuvring for him as is fitting?

— The mischief being done, yes; for the king would not pardon him, and then you have always, whatever he may say, a support in M. Fouquet, who will not abandon you, being, he too, much compromised, despite his heroic trait.

— You are right. That is why, instead of making straight for the sea at once, which would declare my fear and avow me guilty, that is why I remain on French soil. But Belle-Île will be for me the soil that I wish: English, Spanish, or Roman; the whole consists for me in the flag that I shall hoist.

— How so?

— It is I who fortified Belle-Île, and no one will take Belle-Île, I defending it. And then, as you said just now, M. Fouquet is there. They will not attack Belle-Île without the signature of M. Fouquet.

— That is just. Nevertheless, be prudent. The king is cunning and he is strong.

Aramis smiled.

— I commend Porthos to you, repeated the count with a sort of cold insistence.

— What I shall become, count, replied Aramis in the same tone, our brother Porthos shall become.

Athos bowed, pressing Aramis's hand, and went to embrace Porthos with effusion.

— I was born happy, was I not? murmured the latter, transported, wrapping himself in his cloak.

— Come, dearest, said Aramis.

Raoul had gone ahead to give orders and have the two horses saddled.

Already the group had divided. Athos saw his two friends on the point of departure; something like a mist passed before his eyes and weighed upon his heart.

"It is strange!" thought he. "Whence comes this desire I have to embrace Porthos once more?"

Just then Porthos had turned back, and he came to his old friend with open arms.

This last clasp was tender as in youth, as in the times when the heart was warm, life happy.

And then Porthos mounted his horse. Aramis came back also to wind his arms about Athos's neck.

The latter saw them on the high road lengthen in the shadow with their white cloaks. Like two phantoms, they grew as they left the earth, and it was not in the mist, in the slope of the ground, that they were lost: at the end of the perspective, both seemed to have given with the foot a spring that made them disappear, evaporated into the clouds.

Then Athos, his heart tight, returned toward the house, saying to Bragelonne:

— Raoul, I know not what has just told me that I had seen those two men for the last time.

— It does not astonish me, monsieur, that you have that thought, replied the young man, for I have it at this very moment, and I too think that I shall never again see MM. du Vallon and d'Herblay.

— Oh! you, resumed the count, you speak to me as a man saddened by another cause, you see all in black; but you are young; and if it happen that you see those old friends no more, it is that they will be no longer of the world wherein you have many years to pass. But, I...

Raoul gently shook his head, and leaned on the count's shoulder, without either finding another word in his heart, full to overflowing.

Suddenly, a noise of horses and voices, at the end of the Blois road, drew their attention that way.

Torch-bearers on horseback gaily shook their torches over the roadside trees, and turned from time to time so as not to outdistance the horsemen who followed them.

These flames, this noise, this dust of a dozen richly caparisoned horses, made a strange contrast in the midst of the night with the mute and funereal disappearance of the two shadows of Porthos and Aramis.

Athos went back into his house.

But he had not reached his parterre, when the entrance grating seemed to take fire; all those torches stopped and blazed along the road. A cry rang out:

— M. le duc de Beaufort!

And Athos sprang toward the door of his house.

Already the duke had dismounted and was seeking with his eyes around him.

— Here I am, my lord, said Athos.

— Eh! good evening, dear count, replied the prince with that frank cordiality that won all hearts. Is it too late for a friend?

— Ah! my prince, come in, said the count.

And, M. de Beaufort leaning on Athos's arm, they entered the house, followed by Raoul, who walked respectfully and modestly among the prince's officers, among whom he counted several friends.

Chapter CCXXXIII — M. de Beaufort

The prince turned round at the moment when Raoul, to leave him alone with Athos, closed the door and prepared to pass with the officers into a neighbouring room.

— Is that the young lad I have heard so much praised by M. le prince? asked M. de Beaufort.

— It is he, yes, my lord.

— He is a soldier! He is not too many, keep him, count.

— Stay, Raoul, since Monseigneur permits it, said Athos.

— He is tall and handsome, on my faith! continued the duke. Will you give him to me, monsieur, if I ask you?

— How do you mean, my lord, said Athos.

— Yes, I come here to bid you farewell.

— Your farewell, my lord?

— Yes, in truth. Have you no idea of what I am to become?

— But what you have always been, my lord, a valiant prince and an excellent gentleman.

— I am to become a prince of Africa, a Bedouin gentleman. The king sends me to make conquests among the Arabs.

— What are you saying there, my lord?

— It is strange, is it not? I, the Parisian by essence, I who have reigned over the faubourgs and who was called the king of the Halles, I pass from the Place Maubert to the minarets of Djidgelli; I make myself an adventurer of the Fronde!

— Oh! my lord, if you did not tell me that...

— It would not be credible, would it not? Believe me however, and let us say farewell. That is what it is to come back into favour.

— Into favour?

— Yes. You smile? Ah! dear count, do you know why I should have accepted? do you know well?

— Because Your Highness loves glory before all.

— Oh! no, it is not glorious, you see, to go and fire the musket against those savages. Glory, I do not take it by that road, I, and it is more probable that I shall find there something else... But I have wished and I wish, do you understand well, my dear count? that my life should have this last facet after all the bizarre shimmerings that I have seen myself make for fifty years. For, after all, you will admit, it is strange enough to be born son of a king, to have made war on kings, to have counted among the powers in the siege, to have well held one's rank, to feel one's Henri IV, to be admiral of France, and to go get oneself killed at Djidgelli, among all those Turks, Saracens, and Moors.

— My lord, you insist strangely upon this subject, said Athos troubled. How do you suppose that so brilliant a destiny should go lose itself under that miserable extinguisher?

— Do you believe, just and simple man, that, if I go to Africa for that ridiculous motive, I shall not seek to come out of it without ridicule? Shall I not make myself talked of? Shall I, to make myself talked of today when there is M. le prince, M. de Turenne, and several others, my contemporaries, I, the admiral of France, the son of Henri IV, the king of Paris, have anything else to do than get myself killed? 'Sdeath! they will talk of it, I tell you; I should be killed in spite of all. If not there, it will be elsewhere.

— Come, my lord, replied Athos, that is exaggeration, and you have never shown any but in bravery.

— Pest! dear friend, it is bravery to go off to scurvy, to dysenteries, to locusts, to poisoned arrows, like my ancestor saint Louis. Do you know they still have poisoned arrows, those rogues? And then, you know me, I have thought of it for a long time and, you know it, when I want a thing, I want it well.

— You wanted to get out of Vincennes, my lord.

— Oh! you helped me there, my master; and, by the way, I turn and turn without catching sight of my old friend, M. Vaugrimaud. How does he do?

— M. Vaugrimaud is always the most respectful servant of Your Highness, said Athos smiling.

— I have here a hundred pistoles for him that I bring as a legacy. My will is made, count.

— Ah! my lord! my lord!

— And you understand that, if one saw Grimaud on my will...

The duke began to laugh; then, addressing Raoul, who, since the beginning of this conversation, had fallen into a deep reverie:

— Young man, said he, I know here a certain Vouvray wine, I believe...

Raoul went out precipitately to have the duke served. Meanwhile, M. de Beaufort took Athos's hand.

— What do you mean to do with him? asked he.

— Nothing, for the present, my lord.

— Ah! yes, I know; since the king's passion for... La Vallière.

— Yes, my lord.

— Then all that is true?... I knew her, I believe, that little La Vallière. She is not beautiful, it seems to me...

— No, my lord, said Athos.

— Do you know whom she reminds me of?

— She reminds Your Highness of someone?

— She reminds me of a rather pleasing young girl, whose mother lived in the Halles.

— Ah! ah! said Athos smiling.

— Good times! added M. de Beaufort. Yes, La Vallière reminds me of that girl.

— Who had a son, did she not?

— I believe so, replied the duke with careless naïveté, with complaisant forgetfulness, whose tone and vocal value nothing could render. Now, there is poor Raoul, who is well your son, eh?...

— He is my son, yes, my lord.

— There, that poor lad is ousted by the king, and one sulks?

— Better than that, my lord, one abstains.

— You are going to let that lad moulder? It is a wrong. Come, give him to me.

— I mean to keep him, my lord. I have no one left in the world but him, and, as long as he will stay...

— Very well, very well, replied the duke. Yet, I should soon have patched him up. I assure you he is of the stuff whereof marshals of France are made, and I have seen more than one come out of a like cloth.

— It is possible, my lord, but it is the king who makes marshals of France, and never will Raoul accept anything from the king.

Raoul broke off this talk by his return. He preceded Grimaud, whose hands, still steady, bore the tray charged with a glass and a bottle of the duke's favourite wine.

On seeing his old protégé, the duke uttered an exclamation of pleasure.

— Grimaud! Good evening, Grimaud, said he; how goes it?

The servant bowed profoundly, as happy as his noble interlocutor.

— Two friends! said the duke, shaking with vigour the shoulder of the honest Grimaud.

Another bow, deeper and yet more joyful, from Grimaud.

— What do I see there, count? A single glass!

— I drink with Your Highness only if Your Highness invites me, said Athos with a noble humility.

— 'Sdeath! you are right to have brought but one glass, we shall drink from it both, like two brothers in arms. To you, first, count.

— Do me the whole favour, said Athos gently pushing back the glass.

— You are a charming friend, replied the duke of Beaufort, who drank and passed the golden goblet to his companion. But that is not all, continued he: I am still thirsty and I mean to honour this fine lad who stands there. I bring luck, vicomte, said he to Raoul; wish something as you drink from my glass, and may the plague stifle me if what you wish does not come to pass.

He held out the goblet to Raoul, who precipitately moistened his lips therein, and said with the same promptness:

— I have wished something, my lord.

His eyes shone with a dark fire, the blood had risen to his cheeks; he frightened Athos, only by his smile.

— And what did you wish? resumed the duke, letting himself fall back in the armchair, while with one hand he returned the bottle and a purse to Grimaud.

— My lord, will you promise me to grant me what I have wished?

— Pardieu! since it is said.

— I have wished, Monsieur le duc, to go with you to Djidgelli.

Athos grew pale and could not succeed in hiding his trouble.

The duke looked at his friend, as if to help him parry this unforeseen blow.

— It is difficult, my dear vicomte, very difficult, added he rather low.

— Pardon, my lord, I have been indiscreet, resumed Raoul in a firm voice; but, as you yourself had invited me to wish...

— To wish to leave me, said Athos.

— Oh! monsieur... can you believe it?

— Well! 'sdeath! cried the duke, the little vicomte is right; what will he do here? He will rot with grief.

Raoul reddened; the prince, carried away, continued:

— War, that is destruction; one gains all there, one loses but one thing, life; then, so much the worse!

— That is to say memory, said Raoul quickly, that is to say so much the better!

He repented having spoken so fast, on seeing Athos rise and open the window.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”