Twenty Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part one

herself to my little ways and understand my little wishes.”

“So you are free now, and rich?”

“Alas!” groaned Porthos, “I am a widower and have forty

thousand francs a year. Let us go to breakfast.”

“I shall be happy to do so; the morning air has made me

hungry.”

“Yes,” said Porthos; “my air is excellent.”

They went into the chateau; there was nothing but gilding,

high and low; the cornices were gilt, the mouldings were

gilt, the legs and arms of the chairs were gilt. A table,

ready set out, awaited them.

“You see,” said Porthos, “this is my usual style.”

“Devil take me!” answered D’Artagnan, “I wish you joy of it.

The king has nothing like it.”

“No,” answered Porthos, “I hear it said that he is very

badly fed by the cardinal, Monsieur de Mazarin. Taste this

cutlet, my dear D’Artagnan; ’tis off one of my sheep.”

“You have very tender mutton and I wish you joy of it.” said

D’Artagnan.

“Yes, the sheep are fed in my meadows, which are excellent

pasture.”

“Give me another cutlet.”

“No, try this hare, which I had killed yesterday in one of

my warrens.”

“Zounds! what a flavor!” cried D’Artagnan; “ah! they are fed

on thyme only, your hares.”

“And how do you like my wine?” asked Porthos; “it is

pleasant, isn’t it?”

“Capital!”

“It is nothing, however, but a wine of the country.”

“Really?”

“Yes, a small declivity to the south, yonder on my hill,

gives me twenty hogsheads.”

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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After

“Quite a vineyard, hey?”

Porthos sighed for the fifth time — D’Artagnan had counted

his sighs. He became curious to solve the problem.

“Well now,” he said, “it seems, my dear friend, that

something vexes you; you are ill, perhaps? That health,

which —- ”

“Excellent, my dear friend; better than ever. I could kill

an ox with a blow of my fist.”

“Well, then, family affairs, perhaps?”

“Family! I have, happily, only myself in the world to care

for.”

“But what makes you sigh?”

“My dear fellow,” replied Porthos, “to be candid with you, I

am not happy.”

“You are not happy, Porthos? You who have chateau, meadows,

mountains, woods — you who have forty thousand francs a

year — you — are — not — happy?”

“My dear friend, all those things I have, but I am a hermit

in the midst of superfluity.”

“Surrounded, I suppose, only by clodhoppers, with whom you

could not associate.”

Porthos turned rather pale and drank off a large glass of

wine.

“No; but just think, there are paltry country squires who

have all some title or another and pretend to go back as far

as Charlemagne, or at least to Hugh Capet. When I first came

here; being the last comer, it was for me to make the first

advances. I made them, but you know, my dear friend, Madame

du Vallon —- ”

Porthos, in pronouncing these words, seemed to gulp down

something.

“Madame du Vallon was of doubtful gentility. She had, in her

first marriage — I don’t think, D’Artagnan, I am telling

you anything new — married a lawyer; they thought that

`nauseous;’ you can understand that’s a word bad enough to

make one kill thirty thousand men. I have killed two, which

has made people hold their tongues, but has not made me

their friend. So that I have no society; I live alone; I am

sick of it — my mind preys on itself.”

D’Artagnan smiled. He now saw where the breastplate was

weak, and prepared the blow.

“But now,” he said, “that you are a widower, your wife’s

connection cannot injure you.”

“Yes, but understand me; not being of a race of historic

fame, like the De Courcys, who were content to be plain

sirs, or the Rohans, who didn’t wish to be dukes, all these

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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After

people, who are all either vicomtes or comtes go before me

at church in all the ceremonies, and I can say nothing to

them. Ah! If I only were a —- ”

“A baron, don’t you mean?” cried D’Artagnan, finishing his

friend’s sentence.

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