not regret them at all. It is absolutely like the period of
studies. I have constantly met with fools who would boast of
the days of pensums, ferules and crusts of dry bread. It is
singular, but I never loved all that; for my part, however
active and sober I might be (you know if I was so, Athos),
however simple I might appear in my clothes, I would not the
less have preferred the braveries and embroideries of
Porthos to my little perforated cassock, which gave passage
to the wind in winter and the sun in summer. I should
always, my friend, mistrust him who would pretend to prefer
evil to good. Now, in times past all went wrong with me, and
every month found a fresh hole in my cassock and in my skin,
a gold crown less in my poor purse; of that execrable time
of small beer and see-saw, I regret absolutely nothing,
nothing, nothing save our friendship; for within me I have a
heart, and it is a miracle that heart has not been dried up
by the wind of poverty which passed through the holes of my
cloak, or pierced by the swords of all shapes which passed
through the holes in my poor flesh.”
“Do not regret our friendship,” said Athos, “that will only
die with ourselves. Friendship is composed, above all
things, of memories and habits, and if you have just now
made a little satire upon mine, because I hesitate to tell
you the nature of my mission into France —- ”
“Who! I? — Oh! heavens! if you knew, my dear friend, how
indifferent all the missions of the world will henceforth
become to me!” And he laid his hand upon the parchment in
his vest pocket.
Athos rose from the table and called the host in order to
pay the reckoning.
“Since I have known you, my friend,” said D’Artagnan, “I
have never discharged the reckoning. Porthos often did,
Aramis sometimes, and you, you almost always drew out your
purse with the dessert. I am now rich and should like to try
if it is heroic to pay.”
“Do so,” said Athos; returning his purse to his pocket.
Page 227
Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
The two friends then directed their steps towards the port,
not, however, without D’Artagnan’s frequently turning round
to watch the transportation of his dear crowns. Night had
just spread her thick veil over the yellow waters of the
Thames; they heard those noises of casks and pulleys, the
preliminaries of preparing to sail which had so many times
made the hearts of the musketeers beat when the dangers of
the sea were the least of those they were going to face.
This time they were to embark on board a large vessel which
awaited them at Gravesend, and Charles II., always delicate
in small matters, had sent one of his yachts, with twelve
men of his Scotch guard, to do honor to the ambassador he
was sending to France. At midnight the yacht had deposited
its passengers on board the vessel, and at eight o’clock in
the morning, the vessel landed the ambassador and his friend
on the wharf at Boulogne. Whilst the comte, with Grimaud,
was busy procuring horses to go straight to Paris,
D’Artagnan hastened to the hostelry where, according to his
orders, his little army was to wait for him. These gentlemen
were at breakfast upon oysters, fish, and spiced brandy,
when D’Artagnan appeared. They were all very gay, but not
one of them had yet exceeded the bounds of reason. A hurrah
of joy welcomed the general. “Here I am,” said D’Artagnan,
“the campaign is ended. I am come to bring to each his
supplement of pay, as agreed upon.” Their eyes sparkled. “I
will lay a wager there are not, at this moment, a hundred
crowns remaining in the purse of the richest among you.”
“That is true,” cried they in chorus.
“Gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, “then, this is the last order.
The treaty of commerce has been concluded thanks to our
coup-de-main which made us masters of the most skillful
financier of England, for now I am at liberty to confess to