The next day at the appointed hour they went to see Athos
and found him and Aramis in traveling costume.
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“What!” cried Porthos, “are we all going away, then? I, so,
have made my preparations this morning.”
“Oh, heavens! yes,” said Aramis. “There’s nothing to do in
Paris now there’s no Fronde. The Duchess de Longueville has
invited me to pass a few days in Normandy, and has deputed
me, while her son is being baptized, to go and prepare her
residence at Rouen; after which, if nothing new occurs, I
shall go and bury myself in my convent at Noisy-le-Sec.”
“And I,” said Athos, “am returning to Bragelonne. You know,
dear D’Artagnan, I am nothing more than a good honest
country gentleman. Raoul has no fortune other than I
possess, poor child! and I must take care of it for him,
since I only lend him my name.”
“And Raoul — what shall you do with him?”
“I leave him with you, my friend. War has broken out in
Flanders. You shall take him with you there. I am afraid
that remaining at Blois would be dangerous to his youthful
mind. Take him and teach him to be as brave and loyal as you
are yourself.”
“Then,” replied D’Artagnan, “though I shall not have you,
Athos, at all events I shall have that dear fair-haired head
by me; and though he’s but a boy, yet, since your soul lives
again in him, dear Athos, I shall always fancy that you are
near me, sustaining and encouraging me.”
The four friends embraced with tears in their eyes.
Then they departed, without knowing whether they would ever
see each other again.
D’Artagnan returned to the Rue Tiquetonne with Porthos,
still possessed by the wish to find out who the man was that
he had killed. On arriving at the Hotel de la Chevrette they
found the baron’s equipage all really and Mousqueton on his
saddle.
“Come, D’Artagnan,” said Porthos, “bid adieu to your sword
and go with me to Pierrefonds, to Bracieux, or to Du Vallon.
We will grow old together and talk of our companions.”
“No!” replied D’Artagnan, “deuce take it, the campaign is
going to begin; I wish to be there, I expect to get
something by it.”
“What do you expect to get?”
“Why, I expect to be made Marechal of France!”
“Ha! ha!” cried Porthos, who was not completely taken in by
D’Artagnan’s Gasconades.
“Come my brother, go with me,” added D’Artagnan, “and I will
see that you are made a duke!”
“No,” answered Porthos, “Mouston has no desire to fight;
besides, they have erected a triumphal arch for me to enter
my barony, which will kill my neighbors with envy.”
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“To that I can say nothing,” returned D’Artagnan, who knew
the vanity of the new baron. “Then, here’s to our next merry
meeting!”
“Adieu, dear captain,” said Porthos, “I shall always be
happy to welcome you to my barony.”
“Yes, yes, when the campaign is over,” replied the Gascon.
“His honor’s equipage is waiting,” said Mousqueton.
The two friends, after a cordial pressure of the hands,
separated. D’Artagnan was standing at the door looking after
Porthos with a mournful gaze, when the baron, after walking
scarcely more than twenty paces, returned — stood still —
struck his forehead with his finger and exclaimed:
“I recollect!”
“What?” inquired D’Artagnan.
“Who the beggar was that I killed.”
“Ah! indeed! and who was he?”
“‘Twas that low fellow, Bonacieux.”
And Porthos, enchanted at having relieved his mind, rejoined
Mousqueton and they disappeared around an angle of the
street. D’Artagnan stood for an instant, mute, pensive and
motionless; then, as he went in, he saw the fair Madeleine,
his hostess, standing on the threshold.
“Madeleine,” said the Gascon, “give me your apartment on the
first floor; now that I am a captain in the royal musketeers
I must make an appearance; nevertheless, reserve my old room
on the fifth story for me; one never knows what may happen.”