The doctor knew the temper of that mind; he appreciated the strength of that body. He reflected for a moment, told himself that words were useless, remedies absurd; and he left the chateau, exhorting Athos’s servants not to leave him for a moment.
The doctor being gone, Athos evinced neither anger nor vexation at having been disturbed. He did not even desire that all letters that came should be brought to him directly. He knew very well that every distraction which should arrive would be a joy, a hope, which his servants would have paid with their blood to procure him. Sleep had become rare. By force of thought, Athos forgot himself, for a few hours at most in a revery more profound, more obscure than other people would have called a revery. The momentary repose which this forgetfulness afforded the body, fatigued the soul,- for Athos lived a double life during these wanderings of his understanding. One night, he dreamed that Raoul was dressing himself in a tent to go upon an expedition commanded by M. de Beaufort in person. The young man was sad; he clasped his cuirass slowly, and slowly he girded on his sword.
“What is the matter?” asked his father, tenderly.
“What afflicts me is the death of Porthos, our so dear friend,” replied Raoul. “I suffer here for the grief you will feel at home.”
And the vision disappeared with the slumber of Athos. At daybreak one of his servants entered his master’s apartments, and gave him a letter which came from Spain.
“The writing of Aramis,” thought the count; and he read.
“Porthos is dead!” cried he, after the first lines. “Oh, Raoul, Raoul, thanks! thou keepest thy promise, thou warnest me!”
And Athos, seized with a mortal sweat, fainted in his bed, without any other cause than his weakness.
Chapter LXXXV: The Vision of Athos
WHEN this fainting of Athos had ceased, the count, almost ashamed of having given way before this supernatural event, dressed himself and ordered his horse, determined to ride to Blois to open more certain correspondence with either Raoul, d’Artagnan, or Aramis. In fact, this letter from Aramis informed the Comte de la Fere of the bad success of the expedition of Belle-Isle. It gave him sufficient details of the death of Porthos to move the tender and devoted heart of Athos to its last fibres. Athos wished to go and pay his friend Porthos a last visit. To render this honor to his companion in arms, he meant to send to d’Artagnan, to prevail upon him to re-commence the painful voyage to Belle-Isle, to accomplish in his company that sad pilgrimage to the tomb of the giant he had so much loved; then he would return to his dwelling to obey that secret influence which was conducting him to eternity by a mysterious road. But scarcely had his joyous servants dressed their master, whom they saw with pleasure preparing himself for a journey which might dissipate his melancholy; scarcely had the count’s gentlest horse been saddled and brought to the door,- when the father of Raoul felt his head become confused, his legs give way, and he clearly perceived the impossibility of going one step farther. He ordered himself to be carried into the sun; they laid him upon his bed of moss, where he passed a full hour before he could recover his spirits. Nothing could be more natural than this weakness after the inert repose of the latter days. Athos took a bouillon to give him strength, and bathed his dried lips in a glassful of the wine he loved the best,- that old Anjou wine mentioned by Porthos in his admirable will. Then, refreshed, free in mind, he had his horse brought again; but he required the aid of his servants to mount painfully into the saddle. He did not go a hundred paces; a shivering seized him again at the turning of the road. “This is very strange!” said he to his valet de chambre, who accompanied him.
“Let us stop, Monsieur, I conjure you!” replied the faithful servant; “how pale you are becoming!”
“That will not prevent my pursuing my route, now I have once started,” replied the count; and he gave his horse his head again. But suddenly the animal, instead of obeying the thought of his master, stopped. A movement of which Athos was unconscious had checked the bit.