preparing for some dangerous undertaking, about which I did
not dare to question you, since you told me nothing. I have,
therefore, as you see, great need of hearing from you. Now
that you are no longer beside me I am afraid every moment of
erring. You sustained me powerfully, sir, and I protest to
you that to-day I feel very lonely. Will you have the
goodness, sir, should you receive news from Blois, to send
me a few lines about my little friend Mademoiselle de la
Valliere, about whose health, when we left, so much anxiety
was felt? You can understand, honored and dear guardian, how
precious and indispensable to me is the remembrance of the
years that I have passed with you. I hope that you will
sometimes, too, think of me, and if at certain hours you
should miss me, if you should feel any slight regret at my
absence, I shall be overwhelmed with joy at the thought that
you appreciate my affection for and my devotion to yourself,
and that I have been able to prove them to you whilst I had
the happiness of diving with you."
After finishing this letter Raoul felt more composed; he
looked well around him to see if Olivain and the host might
not be watching him, whilst he impressed a kiss upon the
paper, a mute and touching caress, which the heart of Athos
might well divine on opening the letter.
During this time Olivain had finished his bottle and eaten
his pie; the horses were also refreshed. Raoul motioned to
the host to approach, threw a crown upon the table, mounted
his horse, and posted his letter at Senlis. The rest that
had been thus afforded to men and horses enabled them to
continue their journey at a good round pace. At Verberie,
Raoul desired Olivain to make some inquiry about the young
man who was preceding them; he had been observed to pass
only three-quarters of an hour previously, but he was well
mounted, as the tavern-keeper had already said, and rode at
a rapid pace.
"Let us try and overtake this gentleman," said Raoul to
Olivain; "like ourselves he is on his way to join the army
and may prove agreeable company."
It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when Raoul
arrived at Compiegne; there he dined heartily and again
inquired about the young gentleman who was in advance of
them. He had stopped, like Raoul, at the Hotel of the Bell
and Bottle, the best at Compiegne; and had started again on
his journey, saying that he should sleep at Noyon.
"Well, let us sleep at Noyon," said Raoul.
"Sir," replied Olivain, respectfully, "allow me to remark
that we have already much fatigued the horses this morning.
I think it would be well to sleep here and to start again
very early to-morrow. Eighteen leagues is enough for the
first stage."
"The Comte de la Fere wished me to hasten on," replied
Raoul, "that I might rejoin the prince on the morning of the
fourth day; let us push on, then, to Noyon; it will be a
stage similar to those we traveled from Blois to Paris. We
shall arrive at eight o'clock. The horses will have a long
night's rest, and at five o'clock to-morrow morning we can
be again on the road."
Olivain dared offer no opposition to this determination but
he followed his master, grumbling.
"Go on, go on," said he, between his teeth, "expend your
ardor the first day; to-morrow, instead of journeying twenty
leagues, you will travel ten, the day after to-morrow, five,
and in three days you will be in bed. There you must rest;
young people are such braggarts."
It was easy to see that Olivain had not been taught in the
school of the Planchets and the Grimauds. Raoul really felt
tired, but he was desirous of testing his strength, and,
brought up in the principles of Athos and certain of having
heard him speak a thousand times of stages of twenty-five
leagues, he did not wish to fall far short of his model.
D'Artagnan, that man of iron, who seemed to be made of nerve
and muscle only, had struck him with admiration. Therefore,
in spite of Olivain's remarks, he continued to urge his
steed more and more, and following a pleasant little path,
leading to a ferry, and which he had been assured shortened
the journey by the distance of one league, he arrived at the
summit of a hill and perceived the river flowing before him.
A little troop of men on horseback were waiting on the edge
of the stream, ready to embark. Raoul did not doubt this was
the gentleman and his escort; he called out to him, but they
were too distant to be heard; then, in spite of the
weariness of his beast, he made it gallop but the rising
ground soon deprived him of all sight of the travelers, and
when he had again attained a new height, the ferryboat had
left the shore and was making for the opposite bank. Raoul,
seeing that he could not arrive in time to cross the ferry
with the travelers, halted to wait for Olivain. At this
moment a shriek was heard that seemed to come from the
river. Raoul turned toward the side whence the cry had
sounded, and shaded his eyes from the glare of the setting
sun with his hand.
"Olivain!" he exclaimed, "what do I see below there?"
A second scream, more piercing than the first, now sounded.
"Oh, sir!" cried Olivain, "the rope which holds the
ferryboat has broken and the boat is drifting. But what do I
see in the water -- something struggling?"
"Oh, yes," exclaimed Raoul, fixing his glance on one point
in the stream, splendidly illumined by the setting sun, "a
horse, a rider!"
"They are sinking!" cried Olivain in his turn.
It was true, and Raoul was convinced that some accident had
happened and that a man was drowning; he gave his horse its
head, struck his spurs into its sides, and the animal, urged
by pain and feeling that he had space open before him,
bounded over a kind of paling which inclosed the landing
place, and fell into the river, scattering to a distance
waves of white froth.
"Ah, sir!" cried Olivain, "what are you doing? Good God!"
Raoul was directing his horse toward the unhappy man in
danger. This was, in fact, a custom familiar to him. Having
been brought up on the banks of the Loire, he might have
been said to have been cradled on its waves; a hundred times
he had crossed it on horseback, a thousand times had swum
across. Athos, foreseeing the period when he should make a
soldier of the viscount, had inured him to all kinds of
arduous undertakings.
"Oh, heavens!" continued Olivain, in despair, "what would
the count say if he only saw you now!"
"The count would do as I do," replied Raoul, urging his
horse vigorously forward.
"But I -- but I," cried Olivain, pale and disconsolate
rushing about on the shore, "how shall I cross?"
"Leap, coward!" cried Raoul, swimming on; then addressing
the traveler, who was struggling twenty yards in front of
him: "Courage, sir!" said he, "courage! we are coming to
your aid."
Olivain advanced, retired, then made his horse rear --
turned it and then, struck to the core by shame, leaped, as
Raoul had done, only repeating:
"I am a dead man! we are lost!"
In the meantime, the ferryboat had floated away, carried
down by the stream, and the shrieks of those whom it
contained resounded more and more. A man with gray hair had
thrown himself from the boat into the river and was swimming
vigorously toward the person who was drowning; but being
obliged to go against the current he advanced but slowly.
Raoul continued his way and was visibly gaining ground; but
the horse and its rider, of whom he did not lose sight, were
evidently sinking. The nostrils of the horse were no longer
above water, and the rider, who had lost the reins in
struggling, fell with his head back and his arms extended.
One moment longer and all would disappear.
"Courage!" cried Raoul, "courage!"
"Too late!" murmured the young man, "too late!"
The water closed above his head and stifled his voice.
Raoul sprang from his horse, to which he left the charge of
its own preservation, and in three or four strokes was at
the gentleman's side; he seized the horse at once by the
curb and raised its head above water; the animal began to
breathe again and, as if he comprehended that they had come
to his aid, redoubled his efforts. Raoul at the same time
seized one of the young man's hands and placed it on the
mane, which it grasped with the tenacity of a drowning man.
Thus, sure that the rider would not release his hold, Raoul
now only directed his attention to the horse, which he
guided to the opposite bank, helping it to cut through the
water and encouraging it with words.
All at once the horse stumbled against a ridge and then
placed its foot on the sand.
"Saved!" exclaimed the man with gray hair, who also touched
bottom.
"Saved!" mechanically repeated the young gentleman,
releasing the mane and sliding from the saddle into Raoul's
arms; Raoul was but ten yards from the shore; there he bore
the fainting man, and laying him down upon the grass,
unfastened the buttons of his collar and unhooked his
doublet. A moment later the gray-headed man was beside him.
Olivain managed in his turn to land, after crossing himself
repeatedly; and the people in the ferryboat guided
themselves as well as they were able toward the bank, with
the aid of a pole which chanced to be in the boat.
Thanks to the attentions of Raoul and the man who
accompanied the young gentleman, the color gradually
returned to the pale cheeks of the dying man, who opened his
eyes, at first entirely bewildered, but who soon fixed his
gaze upon the person who had saved him.
"Ah, sir," he exclaimed, "it was you! Without you I was a
dead man -- thrice dead."
"But one recovers, sir, as you perceive," replied Raoul,
"and we have but had a little bath."
"Oh! sir, what gratitude I feel!" exclaimed the man with
gray hair.
"Ah, there you are, my good D'Arminges; I have given you a
great fright, have I not? but it is your own fault. You were
my tutor, why did you not teach me to swim?"
"Oh, monsieur le comte," replied the old man, "had any
misfortune happened to you, I should never have dared to
show myself to the marshal again."
"But how did the accident happen?" asked Raoul.
"Oh, sir, in the most natural way possible," replied he to
whom they had given the title of count. "We were about a
third of the way across the river when the cord of the
ferryboat broke. Alarmed by the cries and gestures of the
boatmen, my horse sprang into the water. I cannot swim, and
dared not throw myself into the river. Instead of aiding the
movements of my horse, I paralyzed them; and I was just
going to drown myself with the best grace in the world, when
you arrived just in time to pull me out of the water;
therefore, sir, if you will agree, henceforward we are
friends until death."
"Sir," replied Raoul, bowing, "I am entirely at your
service, I assure you."
"I am called the Count de Guiche," continued the young man;
"my father is the Marechal de Grammont; and now that you
know who I am, do me the honor to inform me who you are."
"I am the Viscount de Bragelonne," answered Raoul, blushing
at being unable to name his father, as the Count de Guiche
had done.
"Viscount, your countenance, your goodness and your courage
incline me toward you; my gratitude is already due. Shake
hands -- I crave your friendship."
"Sir," said Raoul, returning the count's pressure of the
hand, "I like you already, from my heart; pray regard me as
a devoted friend, I beseech you."
And now, where are you going, viscount?" inquired De Guiche.
"To join the army, under the prince, count."
"And I, too!" exclaimed the young man, in a transport of
joy. "Oh, so much the better, we will fire the first shot
together."
"It is well; be friends," said the tutor; "young as you both
are, you were perhaps born under the same star and were
destined to meet. And now," continued he, "you must change
your clothes; your servants, to whom I gave directions the
moment they had left the ferryboat, ought to be already at
the inn. Linen and wine are both being warmed; come."
The young men had no objection to this proposition; on the
contrary, they thought it very timely.
They mounted again at once, whilst looks of admiration
passed between them. They were indeed two elegant horsemen,
with figures slight and upright, noble faces, bright and
proud looks, loyal and intelligent smiles.
De Guiche might have been about eighteen years of age, but
he was scarcely taller than Raoul, who was only fifteen.
30
Skirmishing.
The halt at Noyon was but brief, every one there being
wrapped in profound sleep. Raoul had desired to be awakened
should Grimaud arrive, but Grimaud did not arrive.
Doubtless, too, the horses on their part appreciated the
eight hours of repose and the abundant stabling which was
granted them. The Count de Guiche was awakened at five
o'clock in the morning by Raoul, who came to wish him
good-day. They breakfasted in haste, and at six o'clock had
already gone ten miles.
The young count's conversation was most interesting to
Raoul, therefore he listened much, whilst the count talked
well and long. Brought up in Paris, where Raoul had been but
once; at the court, which Raoul had never seen; his follies
as page; two duels, which he had already found the means of
fighting, in spite of the edicts against them and, more
especially, in spite of his tutor's vigilance -- these
