his horse, whilst Planchet, with a smile on his lips,
advanced toward the master of the house.
“But I know you, my lad,” said Athos, appearing on the
threshold.
“Oh, yes, monsieur le comte, you know me and I know you. I
am Planchet — Planchet, whom you know well.” But the honest
servant could say no more, so much was he overcome by this
unexpected interview.
“What, Planchet, is Monsieur d’Artagnan here?”
“Here I am, my friend, dear Athos!” cried D’Artagnan, in a
faltering voice and almost staggering from agitation.
At these words a visible emotion was expressed on the
beautiful countenance and calm features of Athos. He rushed
toward D’Artagnan with eyes fixed upon him and clasped him
in his arms. D’Artagnan, equally moved, pressed him also
closely to him, whilst tears stood in his eyes. Athos then
took him by the hand and led him into the drawing-room,
where there were several people. Every one arose.
“I present to you,” he said, “Monsieur le Chevalier
D’Artagnan, lieutenant of his majesty’s musketeers, a
devoted friend and one of the most excellent, brave
gentlemen that I have ever known.”
D’Artagnan received the compliments of those who were
present in his own way, and whilst the conversation became
general he looked earnestly at Athos.
Strange! Athos was scarcely aged at all! His fine eyes, no
longer surrounded by that dark line which nights of
dissipation pencil too infallibly, seemed larger, more
liquid than ever. His face, a little elongated, had gained
in calm dignity what it had lost in feverish excitement. His
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hand, always wonderfully beautiful and strong, was set off
by a ruffle of lace, like certain hands by Titian and
Vandyck. He was less stiff than formerly. His long, dark
hair, softly powdered here and there with silver tendrils,
fell elegantly over his shoulders in wavy curls; his voice
was still youthful, as if belonging to a Hercules of
twenty-five, and his magnificent teeth, which he had
preserved white and sound, gave an indescribable charm to
his smile.
Meanwhile the guests, seeing that the two friends were
longing to be alone, prepared to depart, when a noise of
dogs barking resounded through the courtyard and many
persons said at the same moment:
“Ah! ’tis Raoul, who is come home.”
Athos, as the name of Raoul was pronounced, looked
inquisitively at D’Artagnan, in order to see if any
curiosity was painted on his face. But D’Artagnan was still
in confusion and turned around almost mechanically when a
fine young man of fifteen years of age, dressed simply, but
in perfect taste, entered the room, raising, as he came, his
hat, adorned with a long plume of scarlet feathers.
Nevertheless, D’Artagnan was struck by the appearance of
this new personage. It seemed to explain to him the change
in Athos; a resemblance between the boy and the man
explained the mystery of this regenerated existence. He
remained listening and gazing.
“Here you are, home again, Raoul,” said the comte.
“Yes, sir,” replied the youth, with deep respect, “and I
have performed the commission that you gave me.”
“But what’s the matter, Raoul?” said Athos, very anxiously.
“You are pale and agitated.”
“Sir,” replied the young man, “it is on account of an
accident which has happened to our little neighbor.”
“To Mademoiselle de la Valliere?” asked Athos, quickly.
“What is it?” cried many persons present.
“She was walking with her nurse Marceline, in the place
where the woodmen cut the wood, when, passing on horseback,
I stopped. She saw me also and in trying to jump from the
end of a pile of wood on which she had mounted, the poor
child fell and was not able to rise again. I fear that she
has badly sprained her ankle.”
“Oh, heavens!” cried Athos. “And her mother, Madame de
Saint-Remy, have they yet told her of it?”
“No, sir, Madame de Saint-Remy is at Blois with the Duchess
of Orleans. I am afraid that what was first done was
unskillful, if not worse than useless. I am come, sir, to
ask your advice.”
“Send directly to Blois, Raoul; or, rather, take horse and
ride immediately yourself.”