said D’Artagnan.
Athos made no reply.
“He is not curious,” thought D’Artagnan.
Athos not only failed to reply, he even changed the subject
of conversation.
“You see,” said he, calling D’Artagnan’s attention to the
fact that they had come back to the chateau after an hour’s
walk, “we have made a tour of my domains.”
“All is charming and everything savors of nobility,” replied
D’Artagnan.
At this instant they heard the sound of horses’ feet.
“‘Tis Raoul who has come back,” said Athos; “and we can now
hear how the poor child is.”
In fact, the young man appeared at the gate, covered with
dust, entered the courtyard, leaped from his horse, which he
consigned to the charge of a groom, and then went to greet
the count and D’Artagnan.
“Monsieur,” said Athos, placing his hand on D’Artagnan’s
shoulder, “monsieur is the Chevalier D’Artagnan of whom you
have often heard me speak, Raoul.”
“Monsieur,” said the young man, saluting again and more
profoundly, “monsieur le comte has pronounced your name
before me as an example whenever he wished to speak of an
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intrepid and generous gentleman.”
That little compliment could not fail to move D’Artagnan. He
extended a hand to Raoul and said:
“My young friend, all the praises that are given me should
be passed on to the count here; for he has educated me in
everything and it is not his fault that his pupil profited
so little from his instructions. But he will make it up in
you I am sure. I like your manner, Raoul, and your
politeness has touched me.”
Athos was more delighted than can be told. He looked at
D’Artagnan with an expression of gratitude and then bestowed
on Raoul one of those strange smiles, of which children are
so proud when they receive them.
“Now,” said D’Artagnan to himself, noticing that silent play
of countenance, “I am sure of it.”
“I hope the accident has been of no consequence?”
“They don’t yet know, sir, on account of the swelling; but
the doctor is afraid some tendon has been injured.”
At this moment a little boy, half peasant, half foot-boy,
came to announce supper.
Athos led his guest into a dining-room of moderate size, the
windows of which opened on one side on a garden, on the
other on a hot-house full of magnificent flowers.
D’Artagnan glanced at the dinner service. The plate was
magnificent, old, and appertaining to the family. D’Artagnan
stopped to look at a sideboard on which was a superb ewer of
silver.
“That workmanship is divine!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, a chef d’oeuvre of the great Florentine sculptor,
Benvenuto Cellini,” replied Athos.
“What battle does it represent?”
“That of Marignan, just at the point where one of my
forefathers is offering his sword to Francis I., who has
broken his. It was on that occasion that my ancestor,
Enguerrand de la Fere, was made a knight of the Order of St.
Michael; besides which, the king, fifteen years afterward,
gave him also this ewer and a sword which you may have seen
formerly in my house, also a lovely specimen of workmanship.
Men were giants in those times,” said Athos; “now we are
pigmies in comparison. Let us sit down to supper. Call
Charles,” he added, addressing the boy who waited.
“My good Charles, I particularly recommend to your care
Planchet, the laquais of Monsieur D’Artagnan. He likes good
wine; now you have the key of the cellar. He has slept a
long time on a hard bed, so he won’t object to a soft one;
take every care of him, I beg of you.” Charles bowed and
retired.
“You think of everything,” said D’Artagnan; “and I thank you
for Planchet, my dear Athos.”
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Raoul stared on hearing this name and looked at the count to
be quite sure that it was he whom the lieutenant thus
addressed.
“That name sounds strange to you,” said Athos, smiling; “it
was my nom de guerre when Monsieur D’Artagnan, two other
gallant friends and myself performed some feats of arms at
the siege of La Rochelle, under the deceased cardinal and