"Yes, but he couldn’t understand what it meant, for he had spent that
night with a dying person and Marie Michon had left his house before his
return."
"You must know, monsieur, that Marie Michon, when she returned to France
in 1643, immediately sought for information about that child; as a
fugitive she could not take care of it, but on her return she wished to
have it near her."
"And what said the abbe?" asked Athos.
"That a nobleman whom he did not know had wished to take charge of it,
had answered for its future, and had taken it away."
"That was true."
"Ah! I see! That nobleman was you; it was his father!"
"Hush! do not speak so loud, madame; he is there."
"He is there! my son! the son of Marie Michon! But I must see him
instantly."
"Take care, madame," said Athos, "for he knows neither his father nor
his mother."
"You have kept the secret! you have brought him to see me, thinking to
make me happy. Oh, thanks! sir, thanks!" cried Madame de Chevreuse,
seizing his hand and trying to put it to her lips; "you have a noble
heart."
"I bring him to you, madame," said Athos, withdrawing his hand, "hoping
that in your turn you will do something for him; till now I have watched
over his education and I have made him, I hope, an accomplished
gentleman; but I am now obliged to return to the dangerous and wandering
life of party faction. To-morrow I plunge into an adventurous affair in
which I may be killed. Then it will devolve on you to push him on in
that world where he is called on to occupy a place."
"Rest assured," cried the duchess, "I shall do what I can. I have but
little influence now, but all that I have shall most assuredly be his.
As to his title and fortune----"
"As to that, madame, I have made over to him the estate of Bragelonne,
my inheritance, which will give him ten thousand francs a year and the
title of vicomte."
"Upon my soul, monsieur," said the duchess, "you are a true nobleman!
But I am eager to see our young vicomte. Where is he?"
"There, in the salon. I will have him come in, if you really wish it."
Athos moved toward the door; the duchess held him back.
"Is he handsome?" she asked.
Athos smiled.
"He resembles his mother."
So he opened the door and beckoned the young man in.
The duchess could not restrain a cry of joy on seeing so handsome a
young cavalier, so far surpassing all that her maternal pride had been
able to conceive.
"Vicomte, come here," said Athos; "the duchess permits you to kiss her
hand."
The youth approached with his charming smile and his head bare, and
kneeling down, kissed the hand of the Duchess de Chevreuse.
"Sir," he said, turning to Athos, "was it not in compassion to my
timidity that you told me that this lady was the Duchess de Chevreuse,
and is she not the queen?"
"No, vicomte," said Madame de Chevreuse, taking his hand and making him
sit near her, while she looked at him with eyes sparkling with pleasure;
"no, unhappily, I am not the queen. If I were I should do for you at
once the most that you deserve. But let us see; whatever I may be," she
added, hardly restraining herself from kissing that pure brow, "let us
see what profession you wish to follow."
Athos, standing, looked at them both with indescribable pleasure.
"Madame," answered the youth in his sweet voice, "it seems to me that
there is only one career for a gentleman--that of the army. I have been
brought up by monsieur le comte with the intention, I believe, of making
me a soldier; and he gave me reason to hope that at Paris he would
present me to some one who would recommend me to the favor of the
prince."
"Yes, I understand it well. Personally, I am on bad terms with him, on
account of the quarrels between Madame de Montbazon, my mother-in-law,
and Madame de Longueville. But the Prince de Marsillac! Yes, indeed,
that’s the right thing. The Prince de Marsillac--my old friend--will
recommend our young friend to Madame de Longueville, who will give him a
letter to her brother, the prince, who loves her too tenderly not to do
what she wishes immediately."
"Well, that will do charmingly," said the count; "but may I beg that the
greatest haste may be made, for I have reasons for wishing the vicomte
not to sleep longer than to-morrow night in Paris!"
"Do you wish it known that you are interested about him, monsieur le
comte?"
"Better for him in future that he should be supposed never to have seen
me."
"Oh, sir!" cried Raoul.
"You know, Bragelonne," said Athos, "I never speak without reflection."
"Well, comte, I am going instantly," interrupted the duchess, "to send
for the Prince de Marsillac, who is happily, in Paris just now. What are
you going to do this evening?"
"We intend to visit the Abbe Scarron, for whom I have a letter of
introduction and at whose house I expect to meet some of my friends."
"’Tis well; I will go there also, for a few minutes," said the duchess;
"do not quit his salon until you have seen me."
Athos bowed and prepared to leave.
"Well, monsieur le comte," said the duchess, smiling, "does one leave so
solemnly his old friends?"
"Ah," murmured Athos, kissing her hand, "had I only sooner known that
Marie Michon was so charming a creature!" And he withdrew, sighing.
21. The Abbe Scarron.
There was once in the Rue des Tournelles a house known by all the sedan
chairmen and footmen of Paris, and yet, nevertheless, this house was
neither that of a great lord nor of a rich man. There was neither
dining, nor playing at cards, nor dancing in that house. Nevertheless,
it was the rendezvous of the great world and all Paris went there. It
was the abode of the little Abbe Scarron.
In the home of the witty abbe dwelt incessant laughter; there all the
items of the day had their source and were so quickly transformed,
misrepresented, metamorphosed, some into epigrams, some into falsehoods,
that every one was anxious to pass an hour with little Scarron,
listening to what he said, reporting it to others.
The diminutive Abbe Scarron, who, however, was an abbe only because he
owned an abbey, and not because he was in orders, had formerly been one
of the gayest prebendaries in the town of Mans, which he inhabited. On a
day of the carnival he had taken a notion to provide an unusual
entertainment for that good town, of which he was the life and soul. He
had made his valet cover him with honey; then, opening a feather bed, he
had rolled in it and had thus become the most grotesque fowl it is
possible to imagine. He then began to visit his friends of both sexes,
in that strange costume. At first he had been followed through
astonishment, then with derisive shouts, then the porters had insulted
him, then children had thrown stones at him, and finally he was obliged
to run, to escape the missiles. As soon as he took to flight every one
pursued him, until, pressed on all sides, Scarron found no way of
escaping his escort, except by throwing himself into the river; but the
water was icy cold. Scarron was heated, the cold seized on him, and when
he reached the farther bank he found himself crippled.
Every means had been employed in vain to restore the use of his limbs.
He had been subjected to a severe disciplinary course of medicine, at
length he sent away all his doctors, declaring that he preferred the
disease to the treatment, and came to Paris, where the fame of his wit
had preceded him. There he had a chair made on his own plan, and one
day, visiting Anne of Austria in this chair, she asked him, charmed as
she was with his wit, if he did not wish for a title.
"Yes, your majesty, there is a title which I covet much," replied
Scarron.
"And what is that?"
"That of being your invalid," answered Scarron.
So he was called the queen’s invalid, with a pension of fifteen hundred
francs.
From that lucky moment Scarron led a happy life, spending both income
and principal. One day, however, an emissary of the cardinal’s gave him
to understand that he was wrong in receiving the coadjutor so often.
"And why?" asked Scarron; "is he not a man of good birth?"
"Certainly."
"Agreeable?"
"Undeniably."
"Witty?"
"He has, unfortunately, too much wit."
"Well, then, why do you wish me to give up seeing such a man?"
"Because he is an enemy."
"Of whom?"
"Of the cardinal."
"What?" answered Scarron, "I continue to receive Monsieur Gilles
Despreaux, who thinks ill of me, and you wish me to give up seeing the
coadjutor, because he thinks ill of another man. Impossible!"
The conversation had rested there and Scarron, through sheer obstinacy,
had seen Monsieur de Gondy only the more frequently.
Now, the very morning of which we speak was that of his quarter-day
payment, and Scarron, as usual, had sent his servant to get his money at
the pension-office, but the man had returned and said that the
government had no more money to give Monsieur Scarron.
It was on Thursday, the abbe’s reception day; people went there in
crowds. The cardinal’s refusal to pay the pension was known about the
town in half an hour and he was abused with wit and vehemence.
In the Rue Saint Honore Athos fell in with two gentlemen whom he did not
know, on horseback like himself, followed by a lackey like himself, and
going in the same direction that he was. One of them, hat in hand, said
to him:
"Would you believe it, monsieur? that contemptible Mazarin has stopped
poor Scarron’s pension."
"That is unreasonable," said Athos, saluting in his turn the two
cavaliers. And they separated with courteous gestures.
"It happens well that we are going there this evening," said Athos to
the vicomte; "we will pay our compliments to that poor man."
"What, then, is this Monsieur Scarron, who thus puts all Paris in
commotion? Is he some minister out of office?"
"Oh, no, not at all, vicomte," Athos replied; "he is simply a gentleman
of great genius who has fallen into disgrace with the cardinal through
having written certain verses against him."
"Do gentlemen, then, make verses?" asked Raoul, naively, "I thought it
was derogatory."
"So it is, my dear vicomte," said Athos, laughing, "to make bad ones;
but to make good ones increases fame--witness Monsieur de Rotrou.
Nevertheless," he continued, in the tone of one who gives wholesome
advice, "I think it is better not to make them."
"Then," said Raoul, "this Monsieur Scarron is a poet?"
"Yes; you are warned, vicomte. Consider well what you do in that house.
Talk only by gestures, or rather always listen."
"Yes, monsieur," replied Raoul.
"You will see me talking with one of my friends, the Abbe d’Herblay, of
whom you have often heard me speak."
"I remember him, monsieur."
"Come near to us from time to time, as if to speak; but do not speak,
and do not listen. That little stratagem may serve to keep off
interlopers."
"Very well, monsieur; I will obey you at all points."
Athos made two visits in Paris; at seven o’clock he and Raoul directed
their steps to the Rue des Tournelles; it was stopped by porters, horses
and footmen. Athos forced his way through and entered, followed by the
young man. The first person that struck him on his entrance was Aramis,
planted near a great chair on castors, very large, covered with a canopy
of tapestry, under which there moved, enveloped in a quilt of brocade, a
little face, youngish, very merry, somewhat pallid, whilst its eyes
never ceased to express a sentiment at once lively, intellectual, and
amiable. This was the Abbe Scarron, always laughing, joking,
complimenting--yet suffering--and toying nervously with a small switch.
Around this kind of rolling tent pressed a crowd of gentlemen and
ladies. The room was neatly, comfortably furnished. Large valances of
silk, embroidered with flowers of gay colors, which were rather faded,
fell from the wide windows; the fittings of the room were simple, but in
excellent taste. Two well trained servingmen were in attendance on the
company. On perceiving Athos, Aramis advanced toward him, took him by
the hand and presented him to Scarron. Raoul remained silent, for he was
not prepared for the dignity of the bel esprit.
After some minutes the door opened and a footman announced Mademoiselle
Paulet.
Athos touched the shoulder of the vicomte.
"Look at this lady, Raoul, she is an historic personage; it was to visit
her King Henry IV. was going when he was assassinated."
Every one thronged around Mademoiselle Paulet, for she was always very
much the fashion. She was a tall woman, with a slender figure and a
forest of golden curls, such as Raphael was fond of and Titian has
painted all his Magdalens with. This fawn-colored hair, or, perhaps the
sort of ascendancy which she had over other women, gave her the name of
"La Lionne." Mademoiselle Paulet took her accustomed seat, but before
sitting down, she cast, in all her queen-like grandeur, a look around
the room, and her eyes rested on Raoul.
Athos smiled.
"Mademoiselle Paulet has observed you, vicomte; go and bow to her; don’t
try to appear anything but what you are, a true country youth; on no
account speak to her of Henry IV."
"When shall we two walk together?" Athos then said to Aramis.
"Presently--there are not a sufficient number of people here yet; we
shall be remarked."
At this moment the door opened and in walked the coadjutor.
At this name every one looked around, for his was already a very
celebrated name. Athos did the same. He knew the Abbe de Gondy only by
report.
He saw a little dark man, ill made and awkward with his hands in
everything--except drawing a sword and firing a pistol--with something
haughty and contemptuous in his face.
Scarron turned around toward him and came to meet him in his chair.
"Well," said the coadjutor, on seeing him, "you are in disgrace, then,
abbe?"
This was the orthodox phrase. It had been said that evening a hundred
times--and Scarron was at his hundredth bon mot on the subject; he was
very nearly at the end of his humoristic tether, but one despairing
effort saved him.
"Monsieur, the Cardinal Mazarin has been so kind as to think of me," he
said.
"But how can you continue to receive us?" asked the coadjutor; "if your
income is lessened I shall be obliged to make you a canon of Notre
Dame."
"Oh, no!" cried Scarron, "I should compromise you too much."
"Perhaps you have resources of which we are ignorant?"
"I shall borrow from the queen."
"But her majesty has no property," interposed Aramis.
At this moment the door opened and Madame de Chevreuse was announced.
Every one arose. Scarron turned his chair toward the door, Raoul
blushed, Athos made a sign to Aramis, who went and hid himself in the
enclosure of a window.
In the midst of all the compliments that awaited her on her entrance,
the duchess seemed to be looking for some one; at last she found out
Raoul and her eyes sparkled; she perceived Athos and became thoughtful;
she saw Aramis in the seclusion of the window and gave a start of
surprise behind her fan.
"Apropos," she said, as if to drive away thoughts that pursued her in
spite of herself, "how is poor Voiture, do you know, Scarron?"
"What, is Monsieur Voiture ill?" inquired a gentleman who had spoken to
Athos in the Rue Saint Honore; "what is the matter with him?"
"He was acting, but forgot to take the precaution to have a change of
linen ready after the performance," said the coadjutor, "so he took cold
and is about to die."
"Is he then so ill, dear Voiture?" asked Aramis, half hidden by the
window curtain.
"Die!" cried Mademoiselle Paulet, bitterly, "he! Why, he is surrounded
by sultanas, like a Turk. Madame de Saintot has hastened to him with
broth; La Renaudot warms his sheets; the Marquise de Rambouillet sends
him his tisanes."
"You don’t like him, my dear Parthenie," said Scarron.
"What an injustice, my dear invalid! I hate him so little that I should
be delighted to order masses for the repose of his soul."
"You are not called ’Lionne’ for nothing," observed Madame de Chevreuse,
"your teeth are terrible."
"You are unjust to a great poet, it seems to me," Raoul ventured to say.
"A great poet! come, one may easily see, vicomte, that you are lately
from the provinces and have never so much as seen him. A great poet! he
is scarcely five feet high."
"Bravo bravo!" cried a tall man with an enormous mustache and a long
rapier, "bravo, fair Paulet, it is high time to put little Voiture in
his right place. For my part, I always thought his poetry detestable,
and I think I know something about poetry."
"Who is this officer," inquired Raoul of Athos, "who is speaking?"
"Monsieur de Scudery, the author of ’Clelie,’ and of ’Le Grand Cyrus,’
which were composed partly by him and partly by his sister, who is now
talking to that pretty person yonder, near Monsieur Scarron."
Raoul turned and saw two faces just arrived. One was perfectly charming,
delicate, pensive, shaded by beautiful dark hair, and eyes soft as
velvet, like those lovely flowers, the heartsease, in which shine out
the golden petals. The other, of mature age, seemed to have the former
one under her charge, and was cold, dry and yellow--the true type of a
duenna or a devotee.
Raoul resolved not to quit the room without having spoken to the
beautiful girl with the soft eyes, who by a strange fancy, although she
bore no resemblance, reminded him of his poor little Louise, whom he had
left in the Chateau de la Valliere and whom, in the midst of all the
party, he had never for one moment quite forgotten. Meantime Aramis had
drawn near to the coadjutor, who, smiling all the while, contrived to
drop some words into his ear. Aramis, notwithstanding his self-control,
could not refrain from a slight movement of surprise.
"Laugh, then," said Monsieur de Retz; "they are looking at us." And
leaving Aramis he went to talk with Madame de Chevreuse, who was in the
midst of a large group.
Aramis affected a laugh, to divert the attention of certain curious
listeners, and perceiving that Athos had betaken himself to the
embrasure of a window and remained there, he proceeded to join him,
throwing out a few words carelessly as he moved through the room.
As soon as the two friends met they began a conversation which was
emphasized by frequent gesticulation.
Raoul then approached them as Athos had directed him to do.
"’Tis a rondeau by Monsieur Voiture that monsieur l’abbe is repeating to
me." said Athos in a loud voice, "and I confess I think it
incomparable."
Raoul stayed only a few minutes near them and then mingled with the
group round Madame de Chevreuse.
"Well, then?" asked Athos, in a low tone.
"It is to be to-morrow," said Aramis hastily.
"At what time?"
"Six o’clock."
"Where?"
"At Saint Mande."
"Who told you?"
"The Count de Rochefort."
Some one drew near.
"And then philosophic ideas are wholly wanting in Voiture’s works, but I
am of the same opinion as the coadjutor--he is a poet, a true poet."
Aramis spoke so as to be heard by everybody.
"And I, too," murmured the young lady with the velvet eyes. "I have the
misfortune also to admire his poetry exceedingly."
"Monsieur Scarron, do me the honor," said Raoul, blushing, "to tell me
the name of that young lady whose opinion seems so different from that
of others of the company."
"Ah! my young vicomte," replied Scarron, "I suppose you wish to propose
to her an alliance offensive and defensive."
Raoul blushed again.
"You asked the name of that young lady. She is called the fair Indian."
"Excuse me, sir," returned Raoul, blushing still more deeply, "I know no
more than I did before. Alas! I am from the country."
"Which means that you know very little about the nonsense which here
flows down our streets. So much the better, young man! so much the
better! Don’t try to understand it--you will only lose your time."
"You forgive me, then, sir," said Raoul, "and you will deign to tell me
who is the person that you call the young Indian?"
"Certainly; one of the most charming persons that lives--Mademoiselle
Frances d’Aubigne."
"Does she belong to the family of the celebrated Agrippa, the friend of
Henry IV.?"
"His granddaughter. She comes from Martinique, so I call her the
beautiful Indian."
Raoul looked surprised and his eyes met those of the young lady, who
smiled.
The company went on speaking of the poet Voiture.
"Monsieur," said Mademoiselle d’Aubigne to Scarron, as if she wished to
join in the conversation he was engaged in with Raoul, "do you not
admire Monsieur Voiture’s friends? Listen how they pull him to pieces
even whilst they praise him; one takes away from him all claim to good
sense, another robs him of his poetry, a third of his originality,
another of his humor, another of his independence of character, a
sixth--but, good heavens! what will they leave him? as Mademoiselle de
Scudery remarks."
Scarron and Raoul laughed. The fair Indian, astonished at the sensation
her observation produced, looked down and resumed her air of naivete.
Athos, still within the inclosure of the window, watched this scene with
a smile of disdain on his lips.
"Tell the Comte de la Fere to come to me," said Madame de Chevreuse, "I
want to speak to him."
"And I," said the coadjutor, "want it to be thought that I do not speak
to him. I admire, I love him--for I know his former adventures--but I
shall not speak to him until the day after to-morrow."
"And why day after to-morrow?" asked Madame de Chevreuse.
"You will know that to-morrow evening," said the coadjutor, smiling.
"Really, my dear Gondy," said the duchess, "you remind one of the
Apocalypse. Monsieur d’Herblay," she added, turning toward Aramis, "will
you be my servant once more this evening?"
"How can you doubt it?" replied Aramis; "this evening, to-morrow,
always; command me."
"I will, then. Go and look for the Comte de la Fere; I wish to speak
with him."
Aramis found Athos and brought him.
"Monsieur le comte," said the duchess, giving him a letter, "here is
what I promised you; our young friend will be extremely well received."
"Madame, he is very happy in owing any obligation to you."
"You have no reason to envy him on that score, for I owe to you the
pleasure of knowing him," replied the witty woman, with a smile which
recalled Marie Michon to Aramis and to Athos.
As she uttered that bon mot, she arose and asked for her carriage.
Mademoiselle Paulet had already gone; Mademoiselle de Scudery was going.
"Vicomte," said Athos to Raoul, "follow the duchess; beg her to do you
the favor to take your arm in going downstairs, and thank her as you
descend."
The fair Indian approached Scarron.
"You are going already?" he said.
"One of the last, as you see; if you hear anything of Monsieur Voiture,
be so kind as to send me word to-morrow."
"Oh!" said Scarron, "he may die now."
"Why?" asked the young girl with the velvet eyes.
"Certainly; his panegyric has been uttered."
They parted, laughing, she turning back to gaze at the poor paralytic
man with interest, he looking after her with eyes of love.
One by one the several groups broke up. Scarron seemed not to observe
that certain of his guests had talked mysteriously, that letters had
passed from hand to hand and that the assembly had seemed to have a
secret purpose quite apart from the literary discussion carried on with
so much ostentation. What was all that to Scarron? At his house
rebellion could be planned with impunity, for, as we have said, since
that morning he had ceased to be "the queen’s invalid."
As to Raoul, he had attended the duchess to her carriage, where, as she
took her seat, she gave him her hand to kiss; then, by one of those wild
caprices which made her so adorable and at the same time so dangerous,
she had suddenly put her arm around his neck and kissed his forehead,
saying:
"Vicomte, may my good wishes and this kiss bring you good fortune!"
Then she had pushed him away and directed the coachman to stop at the
Hotel de Luynes. The carriage had started, Madame de Chevreuse had made
a parting gesture to the young man, and Raoul had returned in a state of
stupefaction.
Athos surmised what had taken place and smiled. "Come, vicomte," he
said, "it is time for you to go to bed; you will start in the morning
for the army of monsieur le prince. Sleep well your last night as
citizen."
"I am to be a soldier then?" said the young man. "Oh, monsieur, I thank
you with all my heart."
"Adieu, count," said the Abbe d’Herblay; "I return to my convent."
"Adieu, abbe," said the coadjutor, "I am to preach to-morrow and have
twenty texts to examine this evening."
"Adieu, gentlemen," said the count; "I am going to sleep twenty-four
hours; I am just falling down with fatigue."
The three men saluted one another, whilst exchanging a last look.
Scarron followed their movements with a glance from the corner of his
eye.
"Not one of them will do as he says," he murmured, with his little
monkey smile; "but they may do as they please, the brave gentlemen! Who
knows if they will not manage to restore to me my pension? They can move
their arms, they can, and that is much. Alas, I have only my tongue, but
I will try to show that it is good for something. Ho, there, Champenois!
here, it is eleven o’clock. Come and roll me to bed. Really, that
Demoiselle d’Aubigne is very charming!"
So the invalid disappeared soon afterward and went into his
sleeping-room; and one by one the lights in the salon of the Rue des
Tournelles were extinguished.
22. Saint Denis.
The day had begun to break when Athos arose and dressed himself. It was
plain, by a paleness still greater than usual, and by those traces which
loss of sleep leaves on the face, that he must have passed almost the
whole of the night without sleeping. Contrary to the custom of a man so
firm and decided, there was this morning in his personal appearance
something tardy and irresolute.
He was occupied with the preparations for Raoul’s departure and was
seeking to gain time. In the first place he himself furbished a sword,
which he drew from its perfumed leather sheath; he examined it to see if
its hilt was well guarded and if the blade was firmly attached to the
hilt. Then he placed at the bottom of the valise belonging to the young
man a small bag of louis, called Olivain, the lackey who had followed
him from Blois, and made him pack the valise under his own eyes,
watchful to see that everything should be put in which might be useful
to a young man entering on his first campaign.
At length, after occupying about an hour in these preparations, he
opened the door of the room in which the vicomte slept, and entered.
The sun, already high, penetrated into the room through the window, the
curtains of which Raoul had neglected to close on the previous evening.
He was still sleeping, his head gracefully reposing on his arm.
Athos approached and hung over the youth in an attitude full of tender
melancholy; he looked long on this young man, whose smiling mouth and
half closed eyes bespoke soft dreams and lightest slumber, as if his
guardian angel watched over him with solicitude and affection. By
degrees Athos gave himself up to the charms of his reverie in the
proximity of youth, so pure, so fresh. His own youth seemed to reappear,
bringing with it all those savoury remembrances, which are like perfumes
more than thoughts. Between the past and the present was an ineffable
abyss. But imagination has the wings of an angel of light and travels
safely through or over the seas where we have been almost shipwrecked,
the darkness in which our illusions are lost, the precipice whence our
happiness has been hurled and swallowed up. He remembered that all the
first part of his life had been embittered by a woman and he thought
with alarm of the influence love might assume over so fine, and at the
same time so vigorous an organization as that of Raoul.
In recalling all he had been through, he foresaw all that Raoul might
suffer; and the expression of the deep and tender compassion which
throbbed in his heart was pictured in the moist eye with which he gazed
on the young man.
At this moment Raoul awoke, without a cloud on his face without
weariness or lassitude; his eyes were fixed on those of Athos and
perhaps he comprehended all that passed in the heart of the man who was
awaiting his awakening as a lover awaits the awakening of his mistress,
for his glance, in return, had all the tenderness of love.
"You are there, sir?" he said, respectfully.
"Yes, Raoul," replied the count.
"And you did not awaken me?"
"I wished to leave you still to enjoy some moments of sleep, my child;
you must be fatigued from yesterday."
"Oh, sir, how good you are!"
Athos smiled.
"How do you feel this morning?" he inquired.
"Perfectly well; quite rested, sir."
"You are still growing," Athos continued, with that charming and
paternal interest felt by a grown man for a youth.
"Oh, sir, I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Raoul, ashamed of so much
attention; "in an instant I shall be dressed."
Athos then called Olivain.
"Everything," said Olivain to Athos, "has been done according to your
directions; the horses are waiting."
"And I was asleep," cried Raoul, "whilst you, sir, you had the kindness
to attend to all these details. Truly, sir, you overwhelm me with
benefits!"
"Therefore you love me a little, I hope," replied Athos, in a tone of
emotion.
"Oh, sir! God knows how much I love, revere you."
"See that you forget nothing," said Athos, appearing to look about him,
that he might hide his emotion.
"No, indeed, sir," answered Raoul.
The servant then approached Athos and said, hesitatingly:
"Monsieur le vicomte has no sword."
"’Tis well," said Athos, "I will take care of that."
They went downstairs, Raoul looking every now and then at the count to
see if the moment of farewell was at hand, but Athos was silent. When
they reached the steps Raoul saw three horses.
"Oh, sir! then you are going with me?"
"I will accompany you a portion of the way," said Athos.
Joy shone in Raoul’s eyes and he leaped lightly to his saddle.
Athos mounted more slowly, after speaking in a low voice to the lackey,
who, instead of following them immediately, returned to their rooms.
Raoul, delighted at the count’s companionship, perceived, or affected to
perceive nothing of this byplay.
They set out, passing over the Pont Neuf; they pursued their way along
the quay then called L’Abreuvoir Pepin, and went along by the walls of
the Grand Chatelet. They proceeded to the Rue Saint Denis.
After passing through the Porte Saint Denis, Athos looked at Raoul’s way
of riding and observed:
"Take care, Raoul! I have already often told you of this; you must not
forget it, for it is a great defect in a rider. See! your horse is tired
already, he froths at the mouth, whilst mine looks as if he had only
just left the stable. You hold the bit too tight and so make his mouth
hard, so that you will not be able to make him manoeuvre quickly. The
safety of a cavalier often depends on the prompt obedience of his horse.
In a week, remember, you will no longer be performing your manoeuvres
for practice, but on a field of battle."
Then suddenly, in order not to give too uncomfortable an importance to
this observation:
"See, Raoul!" he resumed; "what a fine plain for partridge shooting."
The young man stored in his mind the admonition whilst he admired the
delicate tenderness with which it was bestowed.
"I have remarked also another thing," said Athos, "which is, that in
firing off your pistol you hold your arm too far outstretched. This
tension lessens the accuracy of the aim. So in twelve times you thrice
missed the mark."
"Which you, sir, struck twelve times," answered Raoul, smiling.
"Because I bent my arm and rested my hand on my elbow--so; do you
understand what I mean?"
"Yes, sir. I have fired since in that manner and have been quite
successful."
"What a cold wind!" resumed Athos; "a wintry blast. Apropos, if you
fire--and you will do so, for you are recommended to a young general who
is very fond of powder--remember that in single combat, which often
takes place in the cavalry, never to fire the first shot. He who fires
the first shot rarely hits his man, for he fires with the apprehension
of being disarmed, before an armed foe; then, whilst he fires, make your
horse rear; that manoeuvre has saved my life several times."
"I shall do so, if only in gratitude----" |
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