“He never meets with accidents.”
“Horses may fail him.”
“He will run as fast as a horse.”
“Good God! what a man!”
“Yes, he is a man whom I love and admire. I love him because
he is good, great, and loyal; I admire him because he
represents in my eyes the culminating point of human power;
but, whilst loving and admiring him, I fear him, and am on
my guard against him. Now then, I resume, monsieur; in two
hours D’Artagnan will be here; be beforehand with him. Go to
the Louvre, and see the king, before he sees D’Artagnan.”
“What shall I say to the king?”
“Nothing; give him Belle-Isle.”
“Oh! Monsieur d’Herblay! Monsieur d’Herblay,” cried Fouquet,
“what projects crushed all at once!”
“After one project that has failed, there is always another
project that may lead to fortune; we should never despair.
Go, monsieur, and go at once.”
“But that garrison, so carefully chosen, the king will
change it directly.”
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“That garrison, monsieur, was the king’s when it entered
Belle-Isle; it is yours now; it is the same with all
garrisons after a fortnight’s occupation. Let things go on,
monsieur. Do you see any inconvenience in having an army at
the end of a year, instead of two regiments? Do you not see
that your garrison of today will make you partisans at La
Rochelle, Nantes, Bordeaux, Toulouse — in short, wherever
they may be sent to? Go to the king, monsieur; go; time
flies, and D’Artagnan, while we are losing time, is flying,
like an arrow, along the high-road.”
“Monsieur d’Herblay, you know that each word from you is a
germ which fructifies in my thoughts. I will go to the
Louvre.”
“Instantly, will you not?”
“I only ask time to change my dress.”
“Remember that D’Artagnan has no need to pass through
Saint-Mande; but will go straight to the Louvre; that is
cutting off an hour from the advantage that yet remains to
us.”
“D’Artagnan may have everything except my English horses. I
shall be at the Louvre in twenty-five minutes.” And, without
losing a second, Fouquet gave orders for his departure.
Aramis had only time to say to him, “Return as quickly as
you go; for I shall await you impatiently.”
Five minutes after, the superintendent was flying along the
road to Paris. During this time Aramis desired to be shown
the chamber in which Porthos was sleeping. At the door of
Fouquet’s cabinet he was folded in the arms of Pellisson,
who had just heard of his arrival, and had left his office
to see him. Aramis received, with that friendly dignity
which he knew so well how to assume, these caresses,
respectful as earnest; but all at once stopping on the
landing-place, “What is that I hear up yonder?”
There was, in fact, a hoarse, growling kind of noise, like
the roar of a hungry tiger, or an impatient lion. “Oh, that
is nothing,” said Pellisson, smiling.
“Well; but —- ”
“It is M. du Vallon snoring.”
“Ah! true,” said Aramis. “I had forgotten. No one but he is
capable of making such a noise. Allow me, Pellisson, to
inquire if he wants anything.”
“And you will permit me to accompany you?”
“Oh, certainly;” and both entered the chamber. Porthos was
stretched upon the bed; his face was violet rather than red;
his eyes were swelled; his mouth was wide open. The roaring
which escaped from the deep cavities of his chest made the
glass of the windows vibrate. To those developed and clearly
defined muscles starting from his face, to his hair matted
with sweat, to the energetic heaving of his chin and
shoulders, it was impossible to refuse a certain degree of
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admiration. Strength carried to this point is semi-divine.
The Herculean legs and feet of Porthos had, by swelling,
burst his stockings; all the strength of his huge body was
converted into the rigidity of stone. Porthos moved no more
than does the giant of granite which reclines upon the
plains of Agrigentum. According to Pellisson’s orders, his
boots had been cut off, for no human power could have pulled