A long murmur ran through the assemblage. The procurator continued, seconded by the flashing eye of d’Artagnan, which, glancing over the assembly, quickly restored the interrupted silence:-
“On condition that M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne do give to M. le Chevalier d’Artagnan, captain of the King’s Musketeers, whatever the said Chevalier d’Artagnan may demand of my property.
“On condition that M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne do pay a good pension to M. le Chevalier d’Herblay, my friend, if he should be compelled to live in exile.
“On condition that M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne maintain those of my servants who have spent ten years in my service, and that he give five hundred livres to each of the others.
“I leave to my intendant Mousqueton all my clothes, of city, war, or chase, to the number of forty-seven suits, with the assurance that he will wear them till they are worn out, for the love of, and in remembrance of, his master.
“Moreover, I bequeath to M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne my old servant and faithful friend, Mousqueton, already named, with the charge to the said viscount to act in such a way that Mousqueton shall declare when dying that he has never ceased to be happy.”
On hearing these words, Mousqueton, bowed, pale and trembling; his large shoulders shook convulsively; his countenance, impressed by a frightful grief, appeared from between his icy hands, and the spectators saw him stagger and hesitate, as if, though wishing to leave the hall, he did not know the way.
“Mousqueton, my good friend,” said d’Artagnan, “go and make your preparations. I will take you with me to Athos’s house, whither I shall go on leaving Pierrefonds.”
Mousqueton made no reply. He scarcely breathed, feeling as if everything in that hall would from that time be strange to him. He opened the door, and disappeared slowly.
The procurator finished his reading, after which the greater part of those who had come to hear the last will of Porthos dispersed by degrees, many disappointed, but all penetrated with respect. As for d’Artagnan, left alone after having received the formal compliments of the procurator, he was lost in admiration of the wisdom of the testator, who had so judiciously bestowed his wealth upon the most necessitous and the most worthy, with a delicacy that none among the most refined courtiers and the most noble hearts could have displayed more becomingly.
When Porthos enjoined Raoul de Bragelonne to give to d’Artagnan all he would ask, he knew well, did that worthy Porthos, that d’Artagnan would ask or take nothing; and in case he did demand anything, none but himself could say what. Porthos left a pension to Aramis, who, if he should be inclined to ask too much, would be checked by the example of d’Artagnan; and that word “exile,” thrown out by the testator without apparent intention,- was it not the most mild, the most exquisite criticism upon that conduct of Aramis which had brought about the death of Porthos? But there was no mention of Athos in the testament of the dead; could the latter for a moment suppose that the son would not offer the best part to the father? The rough mind of Porthos had judged all these causes, caught all these shades, better than the law, better than custom, better than taste.
“Porthos was a heart,” said d’Artagnan to himself, with a sigh. As he made this reflection he fancied he heard a groan in the room above him, and he thought immediately of poor Mousqueton, whom it was necessary to divert from his grief. For this purpose he left the hall hastily to seek the worthy intendant. He ascended the staircase leading to the first story, and perceived in Porthos’s own chamber a heap of clothes of all colors and all materials, upon which Mousqueton had laid himself down after heaping them together. It was the legacy of the faithful friend. These clothes were truly his own; they had been given to him. The hand of Mousqueton was stretched over these relics, which he kissed with all his lips, with all his face, which he covered with his whole body. D’Artagnan approached to console the poor fellow. “My God!” said he; “he does not stir,- he has fainted!