cut it in his copse and I am taking it to the chateau."
D'Artagnan determined not to question this man; he did not
wish to hear from another what he had himself said to
Planchet.
"The chateau!" he said to himself, "what chateau? Ah, I
understand! Athos is not a man to be thwarted; he, like
Porthos, has obliged his peasantry to call him `my lord,'
and to dignify his pettifogging place by the name of
chateau. He had a heavy hand -- dear old Athos -- after
drinking."
D'Artagnan, after asking the man the right way, continued
his route, agitated in spite of himself at the idea of
seeing once more that singular man whom he had so truly
loved and who had contributed so much by advice and example
to his education as a gentleman. He checked by degrees the
speed of his horse and went on, his head drooping as if in
deep thought.
Soon, as the road turned, the Chateau de la Valliere
appeared in view; then, a quarter of a mile beyond, a white
house, encircled in sycamores, was visible at the farther
end of a group of trees, which spring had powdered with a
snow of flowers.
On beholding this house, D'Artagnan, calm as he was in
general, felt an unusual disturbance within his heart -- so
powerful during the whole course of life are the
recollections of youth. He proceeded, nevertheless, and came
opposite to an iron gate, ornamented in the taste of the
period.
Through the gate was seen kitchen-gardens, carefully
attended to, a spacious courtyard, in which neighed several
horses held by valets in various liveries, and a carriage,
drawn by two horses of the country.
"We are mistaken," said D'Artagnan. "This cannot be the
establishment of Athos. Good heavens! suppose he is dead and
that this property now belongs to some one who bears his
name. Alight, Planchet, and inquire, for I confess that I
have scarcely courage so to do."
Planchet alighted.
"Thou must add," said D'Artagnan, "that a gentleman who is
passing by wishes to have the honor of paying his respects
to the Comte de la Fere, and if thou art satisfied with what
thou hearest, then mention my name!"
Planchet, leading his horse by the bridle, drew near to the
gate and rang the bell, and immediately a servant-man with
white hair and of erect stature, notwithstanding his age,
presented himself.
"Does Monsieur le Comte de la Fere live here?" asked
Planchet.
"Yes, monsieur, it is here he lives," the servant replied to
Planchet, who was not in livery.
"A nobleman retired from service, is he not?"
"Yes."
"And who had a lackey named Grimaud?" persisted Planchet,
who had prudently considered that he couldn't have too much
information.
"Monsieur Grimaud is absent from the chateau for the time
being," said the servitor, who, little used as he was to
such inquiries, began to examine Planchet from head to foot.
"Then," cried Planchet joyously, "I see well that it is the
same Comte de la Fere whom we seek. Be good enough to open
to me, for I wish to announce to monsieur le comte that my
master, one of his friends, is here, and wishes to greet
him."
"Why didn't you say so?" said the servitor, opening the
gate. "But where is your master?"
"He is following me."
The servitor opened the gate and walked before Planchet, who
made a sign to D'Artagnan. The latter, his heart palpitating
more than ever, entered the courtyard without dismounting.
Whilst Planchet was standing on the steps before the house
he heard a voice say:
"Well, where is this gentleman and why do they not bring him
here?"
This voice, the sound of which reached D'Artagnan,
reawakened in his heart a thousand sentiments, a thousand
recollections that he had forgotten. He vaulted hastily from
his horse, whilst Planchet, with a smile on his lips,
advanced toward the master of the house.
"But I know you, my lad," said Athos, appearing on the
threshold.
"Oh, yes, monsieur le comte, you know me and I know you. I
am Planchet -- Planchet, whom you know well." But the honest
servant could say no more, so much was he overcome by this
unexpected interview.
"What, Planchet, is Monsieur d'Artagnan here?"
"Here I am, my friend, dear Athos!" cried D'Artagnan, in a
faltering voice and almost staggering from agitation.
At these words a visible emotion was expressed on the
beautiful countenance and calm features of Athos. He rushed
toward D'Artagnan with eyes fixed upon him and clasped him
in his arms. D'Artagnan, equally moved, pressed him also
closely to him, whilst tears stood in his eyes. Athos then
took him by the hand and led him into the drawing-room,
where there were several people. Every one arose.
"I present to you," he said, "Monsieur le Chevalier
D'Artagnan, lieutenant of his majesty's musketeers, a
devoted friend and one of the most excellent, brave
gentlemen that I have ever known."
D'Artagnan received the compliments of those who were
present in his own way, and whilst the conversation became
general he looked earnestly at Athos.
Strange! Athos was scarcely aged at all! His fine eyes, no
longer surrounded by that dark line which nights of
dissipation pencil too infallibly, seemed larger, more
liquid than ever. His face, a little elongated, had gained
in calm dignity what it had lost in feverish excitement. His
hand, always wonderfully beautiful and strong, was set off
by a ruffle of lace, like certain hands by Titian and
Vandyck. He was less stiff than formerly. His long, dark
hair, softly powdered here and there with silver tendrils,
fell elegantly over his shoulders in wavy curls; his voice
was still youthful, as if belonging to a Hercules of
twenty-five, and his magnificent teeth, which he had
preserved white and sound, gave an indescribable charm to
his smile.
Meanwhile the guests, seeing that the two friends were
longing to be alone, prepared to depart, when a noise of
dogs barking resounded through the courtyard and many
persons said at the same moment:
"Ah! 'tis Raoul, who is come home."
Athos, as the name of Raoul was pronounced, looked
inquisitively at D'Artagnan, in order to see if any
curiosity was painted on his face. But D'Artagnan was still
in confusion and turned around almost mechanically when a
fine young man of fifteen years of age, dressed simply, but
in perfect taste, entered the room, raising, as he came, his
hat, adorned with a long plume of scarlet feathers.
Nevertheless, D'Artagnan was struck by the appearance of
this new personage. It seemed to explain to him the change
in Athos; a resemblance between the boy and the man
explained the mystery of this regenerated existence. He
remained listening and gazing.
"Here you are, home again, Raoul," said the comte.
"Yes, sir," replied the youth, with deep respect, "and I
have performed the commission that you gave me."
"But what's the matter, Raoul?" said Athos, very anxiously.
"You are pale and agitated."
"Sir," replied the young man, "it is on account of an
accident which has happened to our little neighbor."
"To Mademoiselle de la Valliere?" asked Athos, quickly.
"What is it?" cried many persons present.
"She was walking with her nurse Marceline, in the place
where the woodmen cut the wood, when, passing on horseback,
I stopped. She saw me also and in trying to jump from the
end of a pile of wood on which she had mounted, the poor
child fell and was not able to rise again. I fear that she
has badly sprained her ankle."
"Oh, heavens!" cried Athos. "And her mother, Madame de
Saint-Remy, have they yet told her of it?"
"No, sir, Madame de Saint-Remy is at Blois with the Duchess
of Orleans. I am afraid that what was first done was
unskillful, if not worse than useless. I am come, sir, to
ask your advice."
"Send directly to Blois, Raoul; or, rather, take horse and
ride immediately yourself."
Raoul bowed.
"But where is Louise?" asked the comte.
"I have brought her here, sir, and I have deposited her in
charge of Charlotte, who, till better advice comes, has
bathed the foot in cold well-water."
The guests now all took leave of Athos, excepting the old
Duc de Barbe, who, as an old friend of the family of La
Valliere, went to see little Louise and offered to take her
to Blois in his carriage.
"You are right, sir," said Athos. "She will be the sooner
with her mother. As for you, Raoul, I am sure it is your
fault, some giddiness or folly."
"No, sir, I assure you," muttered Raoul, "it is not."
"Oh, no, no, I declare it is not!" cried the young girl,
while Raoul turned pale at the idea of his being perhaps the
cause of her disaster.
"Nevertheless, Raoul, you must go to Blois and you must make
your excuses and mine to Madame de Saint-Remy."
The youth looked pleased. He again took in his strong arms
the little girl, whose pretty golden head and smiling face
rested on his shoulder, and placed her gently in the
carriage; then jumping on his horse with the elegance of a
first-rate esquire, after bowing to Athos and D'Artagnan, he
went off close by the door of the carriage, on somebody
inside of which his eyes were riveted.
14
The Castle of Bragelonne.
Whilst this scene was going on, D'Artagnan remained with
open mouth and a confused gaze. Everything had turned out so
differently from what he expected that he was stupefied with
wonder.
Athos, who had been observing him and guessing his thoughts,
took his arm and led him into the garden.
"Whilst supper is being prepared," he said, smiling, "you
will not, my friend, be sorry to have the mystery which so
puzzles you cleared up."
"True, monsieur le comte," replied D'Artagnan, who felt that
by degrees Athos was resuming that great influence which
aristocracy had over him.
Athos smiled.
"First and foremost, dear D'Artagnan, we have no title such
as count here. When I call you `chevalier,' it is in
presenting you to my guests, that they may know who you are.
But to you, D'Artagnan, I am, I hope, still dear Athos, your
comrade, your friend. Do you intend to stand on ceremony
because you are less attached to me than you were?"
"Oh! God forbid!"
"Then let us be as we used to be; let us be open with each
other. You are surprised at what you see here?"
"Extremely."
"But above all things, I am a marvel to you?"
"I confess it."
"I am still young, am I not? Should you not have known me
again, in spite of my eight-and-forty years of age?"
"On the contrary, I do not find you the same person at all."
"I understand," cried Athos, with a gentle blush.
"Everything, D'Artagnan, even folly, has its limit."
"Then your means, it appears, are improved; you have a
capital house -- your own, I presume? You have a park, and
horses, servants."
Athos smiled.
"Yes, I inherited this little property when I quitted the
army, as I told you. The park is twenty acres -- twenty,
comprising kitchen-gardens and a common. I have two horses,
-- I do not count my servant's bobtailed nag. My sporting
dogs consist of two pointers, two harriers and two setters.
But then all this extravagance is not for myself," added
Athos, laughing.
"Yes, I see, for the young man Raoul," said D'Artagnan.
"You guess aright, my friend; this youth is an orphan,
deserted by his mother, who left him in the house of a poor
country priest. I have brought him up. It is Raoul who has
worked in me the change you see; I was dried up like a
miserable tree, isolated, attached to nothing on earth; it
was only a deep affection that could make me take root again
and drag me back to life. This child has caused me to
recover what I had lost. I had no longer any wish to live
for myself, I have lived for him. I have corrected the vices
that I had; I have assumed the virtues that I had not.
Precept something, but example more. I may be mistaken, but
I believe that Raoul will be as accomplished a gentleman as
our degenerate age could display."
The remembrance of Milady recurred to D'Artagnan.
"And you are happy?" he said to his friend.
"As happy as it is allowed to one of God's creatures to be
on this earth; but say out all you think, D'Artagnan, for
you have not yet done so."
"You are too bad, Athos; one can hide nothing from you,"
answered D'Artagnan. "I wished to ask you if you ever feel
any emotions of terror resembling ---- "
"Remorse! I finish your phrase. Yes and no. I do not feel
remorse, because that woman, I profoundly hold, deserved her
punishment. Had she one redeeming trait? I doubt it. I do
not feel remorse, because had we allowed her to live she
would have persisted in her work of destruction. But I do
not mean, my friend that we were right in what we did.
Perhaps all blood demands some expiation. Hers had been
accomplished; it remains, possibly, for us to accomplish
ours."
"I have sometimes thought as you do, Athos."
"She had a son, that unhappy woman?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever heard of him?"
"Never."
"He must be about twenty-three years of age," said Athos, in
a low tone. "I often think of that young man, D'Artagnan."
"Strange! for I had forgotten him," said the lieutenant.
Athos smiled; the smile was melancholy.
