to them.”
“Yes, we are devoted to them,” repeated Porthos; “and you —
to whom are you devoted now?”
“To the king, the queen, and to the cardinal; moreover, I
have answered for your devotion also.”
“And you say that you have made certain conditions on my
behalf?”
“Magnificent, my dear fellow, magnificent! In the first
place you have plenty of money, haven’t you? forty thousand
francs income, I think you said.”
Porthos began to be suspicious. “Eh! my friend,” said he,
“one never has too much money. Madame du Vallon left things
in much disorder; I am not much of a hand at figures, so
that I live almost from hand to mouth.”
“He is afraid I have come to borrow money,” thought
D’Artagnan. “Ah, my friend,” said he, “it is all the better
if you are in difficulties.”
“How is it all the better?”
“Yes, for his eminence will give you all that you want —
land, money, and titles.”
“Ah! ah! ah!” said Porthos, opening his eyes at that last
word.
“Under the other cardinal,” continued D’Artagnan, “we didn’t
know enough to make our profits; this, however, doesn’t
concern you, with your forty thousand francs income, the
happiest man in the world, it seems to me.”
Porthos sighed.
“At the same time,” continued D’Artagnan, “notwithstanding
your forty thousand francs a year, and perhaps even for the
very reason that you have forty thousand francs a year, it
seems to me that a little coronet would do well on your
carriage, hey?”
“Yes indeed,” said Porthos.
“Well, my dear friend, win it — it is at the point of your
sword. We shall not interfere with each other — your object
is a title; mine, money. If I can get enough to rebuild
Artagnan, which my ancestors, impoverished by the Crusades,
allowed to fall into ruins, and to buy thirty acres of land
about it, that is all I wish. I shall retire and die
tranquilly — at home.”
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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
“For my part,” said Porthos, “I desire to be made a baron.”
“You shall be one.”
“And have you not seen any of our other friends?”
“Yes, I have seen Aramis.”
“And what does he wish? To be a bishop?”
“Aramis,” answered D’Artagnan, who did not wish to undeceive
Porthos, “Aramis, fancy, has become a monk and a Jesuit, and
lives like a bear. My offers did not arouse him, — did not
even tempt him.”
“So much the worse! He was a clever man. And Athos?”
“I have not yet seen him. Do you know where I shall find
him?”
“Near Blois. He is called Bragelonne. Only imagine, my dear
friend. Athos, who was of as high birth as the emperor and
who inherits one estate which gives him the title of comte,
what is he to do with all those dignities — the Comte de la
Fere, Comte de Bragelonne?”
“And he has no children with all these titles?”
“Ah!” said Porthos, “I have heard that he had adopted a
young man who resembles him greatly.”
“What, Athos? Our Athos, who was as virtuous as Scipio? Have
you seen him?
“No.”
“Well, I shall see him to-morrow and tell him about you; but
I’m afraid, entre nous, that his liking for wine has aged
and degraded him.”
“Yes, he used to drink a great deal,” replied Porthos.
“And then he was older than any of us,” added D’Artagnan.
“Some years only. His gravity made him look older than he
was.”
“Well then, if we can get Athos, all will be well. If we
cannot, we will do without him. We two are worth a dozen.”
“Yes,” said Porthos, smiling at the remembrance of his
former exploits; “but we four, altogether, would be equal to
thirty-six, more especially as you say the work will not be
child’s play. Will it last long?”
“By’r Lady! two or three years perhaps.”
“So much the better,” cried Porthos. “You have no idea, my
friend, how my bones ache since I came here. Sometimes on a
Sunday, I take a ride in the fields and on the property of
my neighbours, in order to pick up a nice little quarrel,