After one of those dinners, during which Porthos attempted to recall to his mind all the details of the royal banquet,- half joyful, thanks to the excellence of the wines; half melancholy, thanks to his ambitious ideas,- Porthos was gradually falling off into a gentle doze, when his servant entered to announce that M. de Bragelonne wished to speak to him. Porthos passed into an adjoining room, where he found his young friend in the disposition of mind of which we are already aware. Raoul advanced towards Porthos, and shook him by the hand. Porthos, surprised at his seriousness of aspect, offered him a seat.
“Dear M. du Vallon,” said Raoul, “I have a service to ask of you.”
“Nothing could happen more fortunately, my young friend,” replied Porthos. “I have had eight thousand livres sent me this morning from Pierrefonds; and if you want any money-”
“No, I thank you; it is not money, my dear friend.”
“So much the worse, then. I have always heard it said that that is the rarest service, but the easiest to render. The remark struck me; I like to cite remarks that strike me.”
“Your heart is as good as your mind is sound and true.”
“You are too kind, I’m sure. Will you have your dinner immediately?”
“No; I am not hungry.”
“Eh! What a dreadful country England is!”
“Not too much so; but-”
“Well, if such excellent fish and meat were not to be procured there, it would hardly be endurable.”
“Yes. I have come-”
“I am listening. Only allow me to take something to drink. One gets thirsty in Paris”; and Porthos ordered a bottle of champagne to be brought. Then, having first filled Raoul’s glass, he filled his own, took a large draught, and resumed: “I needed that, in order to listen to you with proper attention. I am now quite at your service. What have you to ask me, dear Raoul? What do you want?”
“Give me your opinion upon quarrels in general, my dear friend.”
“My opinion? Well- but- Explain your idea a little,” replied Porthos, rubbing his forehead.
“I mean,- are you generally of accommodating disposition whenever any misunderstanding arises between your friends and strangers?”
“Oh! of excellent disposition, as always.”
“Very good; but what do you do in such a case?”
“Whenever any friend of mine has a quarrel, I always act upon one principle.”
“What is that?”
“That all lost time is irreparable, and that one never arranges an affair so well as when the dispute is still warm.”
“Ah! indeed, that is your principle?”
“Thoroughly; so, as soon as a quarrel takes place, I bring the two parties together.”
“Exactly.”
“You understand that by this means it is impossible for an affair not to be arranged.”
“I should have thought,” said Raoul, with astonishment, “that, treated in this manner, an affair would, on the contrary-”
“Oh, not the least in the world! Just fancy now! I have had in my life something like a hundred and eighty to a hundred and ninety regular duels, without reckoning hasty encounters or chance meetings.”
“It is a very handsome number,” said Raoul, unable to resist a smile.
“A mere nothing; but I am so gentle. D’Artagnan reckons his duels by hundreds. It is very true he is a little too hard and sharp,- I have often told him so.”
“And so,” resumed Raoul, “you generally arrange the affairs of honor your friends confide to you.”
“There is not a single instance in which I have not finished by arranging every one of them,” said Porthos, with a gentleness and confidence which surprised Raoul.
“But the way in which you settle them is at least honorable, I suppose?”
“Oh, rely upon that! And at this stage I will explain my other principle to you. As soon as my friend has confided his quarrel to me, this is what I do: I go to his adversary at once, armed with a politeness and self-possession which are absolutely requisite under such circumstances.”
“That is the way, then,” said Raoul, bitterly, “that you arrange the affairs so safely?”
“I believe so. I go to the adversary, then, and say to him, ‘It is impossible, Monsieur, that you are ignorant of the extent to which you have insulted my friend.'” Raoul puckered his brows.