“But,” observed Raoul, “your not being certain proves that your situation here is provisional, and you will return to Paris.”
“Ask these gentlemen,” interrupted the governor, “what was their purpose in coming to Ste. Marguerite.”
“They came because they had heard that there was a convent of Benedictines at St. Honorat which is considered curious; and from being told there was excellent shooting in the island.”
“That is quite at their service, as well as yours,” replied De Saint-Mars.
D’Artagnan politely thanked him.
“When will they depart?” added the governor.
“To-morrow,” replied d’Artagnan.
M. de Saint-Mars went to make his rounds, and left d’Artagnan alone with the pretended Spaniards.
“Oh!” exclaimed the musketeer, “here is a life with a society that suits me but little. I command this man; and he bores me, mordioux! Come, let us have a shot or two at the rabbits; the walk will be beautiful, and not fatiguing. The isle is but a league and a half in length, upon a breadth of a league,- a real park. Let us try to amuse ourselves.”
“As you please, d’Artagnan; not for the sake of amusing ourselves, but to gain an opportunity for talking freely.”
D’Artagnan made a sign to a soldier, who brought the gentlemen some guns, and then returned to the fort.
“And now,” said the musketeer, “answer me the question put to you by that black-looking Saint-Mars. What did you come to do at the Lerins Isles “To bid you farewell.”
“Bid me farewell! What do you mean by that? Is Raoul going anywhere?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will lay a wager it is with M. de Beaufort.”
“With M. de Beaufort it is, my dear friend; you always guess rightly.”
“From habit.”
While the two friends were beginning their conversation, Raoul, with his head hanging down and his heart oppressed, seated himself on a mossy rock, his gun across his knees, looking at the sea, looking at the heavens, and listening to the voice of his soul; he allowed the sportsmen to attain a considerable distance from him. D’Artagnan remarked his absence.
“He is still stricken, isn’t he?” said he to Athos.
“He is struck to death.”
“Oh! your fears exaggerate, I hope. Raoul is of a fine nature. Around all hearts so noble as his there is a second envelope which forms a cuirass. The first bleeds, the second resists.”
“No,” replied Athos, “Raoul will die of it.”
“Mordioux!” said d’Artagnan, in a melancholy tone; and he did not add a word to this exclamation. Then, a minute after, “Why do you let him go?”
“Because he insists upon going.”
“And why do you not go with him?”
“I could not bear to see him die.”
D’Artagnan looked his friend earnestly in the face.
“You know one thing,” continued the count, leaning upon the arm of the captain,- “you know that in the course of my life I have been afraid of but few things. Well! I have an incessant, gnawing, insurmountable fear that a day will arrive in which I shall hold the dead body of that boy in my arms.”
“Oh!” murmured d’Artagnan; “oh!”
“He will die, I know,- I have a conviction of that; but I would not see him die.”
“How is this, Athos? you come and place yourself in the presence of the bravest man you say you have ever seen,- of your own d’Artagnan, of that man without an equal, as you formerly called him,- and you come and tell him with your arms folded that you are afraid of witnessing the death of your son, you who have seen all that can be seen in this world! Why have you this fear, Athos? Man upon this earth must expect everything, and ought to face everything.”
“Listen to me, my friend. After having worn myself out upon this earth of which you speak, I have preserved but two religions: that of life,- my friendships, my duty as a father; that of eternity,- love and respect for God. Now, I have within me the revelation that if God should decree that my friend or my son should render up his last sigh in my presence,- oh, no, I cannot even tell you, d’Artagnan!”