He held the goblet to Raoul, who hastily moistened his lips, and replied with the same promptitude, “I have wished for something, Monseigneur.” His eyes sparkled with a gloomy fire, and the blood mounted to his cheeks; he terrified Athos, if only with his smile.
“And what have you wished for?” replied the duke, sinking back into his arm-chair, while with one hand he returned the bottle to Grimaud and with the other gave him a purse.
“Will you promise me, Monseigneur, to grant me what I wish for?”
“Pardieu! That is agreed upon.”
“I wished, Monsieur the Duke, to go with you to Djidgelli.”
Athos became pale, and was unable to conceal his agitation. The duke looked at his friend, as if desirous to help him parry this unexpected blow.
“That is difficult, my dear viscount, very difficult,” added he, in a lower tone of voice.
“Pardon me, Monseigneur, I have been indiscreet,” replied Raoul, in a firm voice; “but as you yourself invited me to wish-”
“To wish to leave me?” said Athos.
“Oh, Monsieur- can you imagine-”
“Well, mordieu!” cried the duke, “the young viscount is right! What can he do here? He will rot with grief.” Raoul blushed; and the Prince, excited, continued, “War is a distraction. We gain everything by it; we can lose only one thing by it,- life; then so much the worse!”
“That is to say, memory,” said Raoul, eagerly; “and that is to say, so much the better!”
He repented of having spoken so warmly when he saw Athos rise and open the window,- which was doubtless to conceal his emotion. Raoul sprang towards the count, but the latter had already overcome his emotion, and turned to the lights with a serene and impassive countenance.
“Well, come,” said the duke, “let us see! Shall he go, or shall he not? If he goes, Count, he shall be my aide-decamp, my son.”
“Monseigneur!” cried Raoul, bending his knee.
“Monseigneur!” cried Athos, taking the hand of the duke; “Raoul shall do just as he likes.”
“Oh, no, Monsieur, just as you like,” interrupted the young man.
“Par la corbleu!” said the Prince, in his turn, “it is neither the count nor the viscount that shall have his way,- it is I. I will take him away. The navy offers a superb future, my friend.”
Raoul smiled again so sadly that this time Athos was wounded to the heart, and replied to him by a severe look. Raoul comprehended it all; he recovered his calmness, and was so guarded that not another word escaped him. The duke at length rose, on observing the advanced hour, and said with much animation, “I am in great haste, but if I am told I have lost time in talking with a friend, I will reply that I have gained a good recruit.”
“Pardon me, Monsieur the Duke,” interrupted Raoul, “do not tell the King so, for it is not the King I will serve.”
“Eh, my friend, whom then will you serve? The times are past when you might have said, ‘I belong to M. de Beaufort.’ No, nowadays, we all belong to the King, great or small. Therefore, if you serve on board my vessels, there can be nothing equivocal in it, my dear viscount; it will be the King you will serve.”
Athos waited with a kind of impatient joy for the reply about to be made to this embarrassing question by Raoul, the intractable enemy of the King, his rival. The father hoped that the obstacle would overcome the desire. He was thankful to M. de Beaufort, whose lightness or generous reflection had thrown an impediment in the way of the departure of a son now his only joy.
Raoul, still firm and tranquil, replied, “Monsieur the Duke, the objection you make I have already considered in my mind. I will serve on board your vessels, because you do me the honor to take me with you; but I shall there serve a more powerful master than the King,- I shall serve God!”
“God! how so?” said the duke and Athos together.
“My intention is to make profession, and become a Knight of Malta,” added Bragelonne, letting fall one by one words more icy than the drops which fall from the bare trees after the tempests of winter.