“Alone?” said Grimaud, addressing Athos, and pointing to Raoul in a tone of reproach, which showed to what an extent the old man was troubled.
“Oh, you are right!” cried the count. “No, Raoul shall not go alone; no, he shall not be left alone in a strange land without some friendly hand to support him, some friendly heart to recall to him all he loved!”
“I?” said Grimaud.
“You? yes, you!” cried Raoul, touched to his inmost heart.
“Alas!” said Athos, “you are very old, my good Grimaud.”
“So much the better,” replied the latter, with an inexpressible depth of feeling and intelligence.
“But the embarkation has begun,” said Raoul, “and you are not prepared.”
“Yes,” said Grimaud, showing the keys of his trunks, mixed with those of his young master.
“But,” again objected Raoul, “you cannot leave Monsieur the Count thus alone,- Monsieur the Count whom you have never quitted?”
Grimaud turned his dimmed eyes upon Athos and Raoul, as if to measure the strength of both. The count uttered not a word.
“Monsieur the Count will prefer my going,” said Grimaud.
“I should,” said Athos, by an inclination of the head.
At that moment the drums suddenly rolled, and the clarions filled the air with their inspiring notes. The regiments destined for the expedition began to march out from the city. They advanced to the number of five, each composed of forty companies. Royals marched first, distinguished by their white uniform, faced with blue. The ordonnance colors, quartered crosswise, violet and dead leaf, with a sprinkling of golden fleurs-de-lis, left the white-colored flag, with its fleurdelisee cross, to dominate over the whole. Musketeers at the wings, with their forked sticks in their hands and their muskets on their shoulders, and pikemen in the centre, with their lances, fourteen feet in length, marched gayly towards the transports, which carried them in detail to the ships. The regiments of Picardy, Navarre, Normandy, and Royal Vaisseau, followed after. M. de Beaufort had known well how to select his troops. He himself was seen closing the march with his staff; it would take him a full hour to reach the sea. Raoul with Athos turned his steps slowly towards the beach, in order to take his place when the prince embarked. Grimaud, acting with the ardor of a young man, superintended the embarkation of Raoul’s baggage in the admiral’s vessel. Athos, with his arm passed through that of the son he was about to lose, absorbed in melancholy meditation, was deaf to the noise around him. An officer came quickly towards them to inform Raoul that M. de Beaufort desired to have him by his side.
“Have the kindness to tell the prince,” said Raoul, “that I request he will allow me this hour to enjoy the company of my father.”
“No, no,” said Athos; “an aide-decamp ought not thus to quit his general. Please to tell the prince, Monsieur, that the viscount will join him immediately.”
The officer set off at a gallop.
“Whether we part here or part there,” added the count, “it is no less a separation.”
Athos carefully brushed the dust off his son’s coat, and passed his hand over his hair as they walked along. “But, Raoul,” said he, “you want money. M. de Beaufort’s train will be splendid, and I am certain it will be agreeable to you to purchase horses and arms, which are very dear things in Africa. Now, as you are not actually in the service of the King or of M. de Beaufort, and are simply a volunteer, you must not reckon upon either pay or largesses; but I should not like you to want for anything at Djidgelli. Here are two hundred pistoles; if you would please me, Raoul, spend them.”
Raoul pressed the hand of his father, and at the turning of a street they saw M. de Beaufort, mounted upon a magnificent white genet, which replied by graceful curvets to the applause of the women of the city. The duke called Raoul and held out his hand to the count, speaking to him for some time with such a kindly expression that the heart of the poor father felt a little comforted. It seemed, however, to both father and son that they were proceeding to a scene of torture. There was a terrible moment,- that at which on quitting the sands of the shore the soldiers and sailors exchanged the last kisses with their families and friends; a supreme moment, in which, notwithstanding the clearness of the heaven, the warmth of the sun, the perfumes of the air, and the rich life that was circulating in their veins, everything appeared black, everything appeared bitter, everything created doubts of a God, even while speaking by the mouth of God. It was customary for the admiral and his suite to embark last; the cannon waited to announce with its formidable voice that the leader had placed his foot on board his vessel. Athos, forgetful of both the admiral and the fleet, and of his own dignity as a strong man, opened his arms to his son, and pressed him convulsively to his heart.