store-room for colonial provisions. As for the rest of the
house, he let it ready furnished to strangers. It was with
unspeakable emotion D’Artagnan recognized all the furniture
of the chamber of the first story; the wainscoting, the
tapestries, and even that geographical chart which Porthos
had so fondly studied in his moments of leisure.
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“It is eleven years ago,” cried D’Artagnan. “Mordioux! it
appears to me a century!”
“And to me but a day,” said Athos. “Imagine the joy I
experience, my friend, in seeing you there, in pressing your
hand, in casting from me sword and dagger, and tasting
without mistrust this glass of sherry. And, oh! what still
further joy it would be, if our two friends were there, at
the two corners of the tables, and Raoul, my beloved Raoul,
on the threshold, looking at us with his large eyes, at once
so brilliant and so soft!”
“Yes, yes,” said D’Artagnan, much affected, “that is true. I
approve particularly of the first part of your thought; it
is very pleasant to smile there where we have so
legitimately shuddered in thinking that from one moment to
another M. Mordaunt might appear upon the landing.”
At this moment the door opened, and D’Artagnan, brave as he
was, could not restrain a slight movement of fright. Athos
understood him, and, smiling, —
“It is our host,” said he, “bringing me a letter.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the good man; “here is a letter for
your honor.”
“Thank you,” said Athos, taking the letter without looking
at it. “Tell me, my dear host, if you do not remember this
gentleman?”
The old man raised his head, and looked attentively at
D’Artagnan.
“No,” said he.
“It is,” said Athos, “one of those friends of whom I have
spoken to you, and who lodged here with me eleven years
ago.”
“Oh! but,” said the old man, “so many strangers have lodged
here!”
“But we lodged here on the 30th of January, 1649,” added
Athos, believing he should stimulate the lazy memory of the
host by this remark.
“That is very possible,” replied he, smiling; “but it is so
long ago!” and he bowed, and went out.
“Thank you,” said D’Artagnan — “perform exploits,
accomplish revolutions, endeavor to engrave your name in
stone or bronze with strong swords! there is something more
rebellious, more hard, more forgetful than iron, bronze, or
stone, and that is, the brain of a lodging-house keeper who
has grown rich in the trade, — he does not know me! Well, I
should have known him, though.”
Athos, smiling at his friend’s philosophy, unsealed his
letter.
“Ah!” said he, “a letter from Parry.”
“Oh! oh!” said D’Artagnan; “read it, my friend, read it! No
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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
doubt it contains news.”
Athos shook his head, and read:
Monsieur le Comte. — The king has experienced much regret
at not seeing you to-day beside him, at his entrance. His
majesty commands me to say so, and to recall him to your
memory. His majesty will expect you this evening, at the
palace of St. James, between nine and ten o’clock.
“I am, respectfully, monsieur le comte, your honor’s very
humble and very obedient servant, — Parry.”
“You see, my dear D’Artagnan,” said Athos, “we must not
despair of the hearts of kings.”
“Not despair! you are right to say so!” replied D’Artagnan.
“Oh! my dear, very dear friend,” resumed Athos, whom the
almost imperceptible bitterness of D’Artagnan had not
escaped. “Pardon me! can I have unintentionally wounded my
best comrade?”
“You are mad, Athos, and to prove it, I shall conduct you to
the palace; to the very gate, I mean; the walk will do me
good.”
“You shall go in with me, my friend; I will speak to his
majesty.”
“No, no!” replied D’Artagnan, with true pride, free from all
mixture; “if there is anything worse than begging yourself,
it is making others beg for you. Come, let us go, my friend,
the walk will be charming; on the way I shall show you the
house of M. Monk, who has detained me with him. A beautiful