Twenty Years After - The Original Classic Edition. Dumas d.Ä. Alexandre

take place after breakfast. He determined to cultivate the goodwill of the youth Raoul and, either whilst fencing with him or when out shooting, to extract from his simplicity some information which would connect the Athos of old times with the Athos of the present. But D'Artagnan at the same time, being a man of extreme caution, was quite aware what injury he should do himself, if by any indiscretion or awkwardness he should betray has manoeuvering to the experienced eye of Athos. Besides, to tell truth, whilst D'Artagnan was quite disposed to adopt a subtle course against the cunning of Aramis or the

       vanity of Porthos, he was ashamed to equivocate with Athos, true-hearted, open Athos. It seemed to him that if Porthos and Aramis

       deemed him superior to them in the arts of diplomacy, they would like him all the better for it; but that Athos, on the contrary,

       would despise him.

       "Ah! why is not Grimaud, the taciturn Grimaud, here?" thought D'Artagnan, "there are so many things his silence would have told

       me; with Grimaud silence was another form of eloquence!"

       There reigned a perfect stillness in the house. D'Artagnan had heard the door shut and the shutters barred; the dogs became in their turn silent. At last a nightingale, lost in a thicket of shrubs, in the midst of its most melodious cadences had fluted low and lower into stillness and fallen asleep. Not a sound was heard in the castle, except of a footstep up and down, in the chamber above--as he supposed, the bedroom of Athos.

       "He is walking about and thinking," thought D'Artagnan; "but of what? It is impossible to know; everything else might be guessed,

       but not that."

       At length Athos went to bed, apparently, for the noise ceased.

       Silence and fatigue together overcame D'Artagnan and sleep overtook him also. He was not, however, a good sleeper. Scarcely had dawn gilded his window curtains when he sprang out of bed and opened the windows. Somebody, he perceived, was in the courtyard, moving stealthily. True to his custom of never passing anything over that it was within his power to know, D'Artagnan looked out of the window and perceived the close red coat and brown hair of Raoul.

       The young man was opening the door of the stable. He then, with noiseless haste, took out the horse that he had ridden on the previous evening, saddled and bridled it himself and led the animal into the alley to the right of the kitchen-garden, opened a side door which conducted him to a bridle road, shut it after him, and D'Artagnan saw him pass by like a dart, bending, as he went, beneath the pendent flowery branches of maple and acacia. The road, as D'Artagnan had observed, was the way to Blois.

       "So!" thought the Gascon "here's a young blade who has already his love affair, who doesn't at all agree with Athos in his hatred to

       the fair sex. He's not going to hunt, for he has neither dogs nor arms; he's not going on a message, for he goes secretly. Why does

       he go in secret? Is he afraid of me or of his father? for I am sure the count is his father. By Jove! I shall know about that soon, for I

       shall soon speak out to Athos."

       Day was now advanced; all the noises that had ceased the night before reawakened, one after the other. The bird on the branch, the dog in his kennel, the sheep in the field, the boats moored in the Loire, even, became alive and vocal. The latter, leaving the shore, abandoned themselves gaily to the current. The Gascon gave a last twirl to his mustache, a last turn to his hair, brushed, from habit, the brim of his hat with the sleeve of his doublet, and went downstairs. Scarcely had he descended the last step of the threshold when he saw Athos bent down toward the ground, as if he were looking for a crown-piece in the dust.

       "Good-morning, my dear host," cried D'Artagnan.

       "Good-day to you; have you slept well?"

       "Excellently, Athos, but what are you looking for? You are perhaps a tulip fancier?"

       "My dear friend, if I am, you must not laugh at me for being so. In the country people alter; one gets to like, without knowing it,

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       all those beautiful objects that God causes to spring from the earth, which are despised in cities. I was looking anxiously for some iris roots I planted here, close to this reservoir, and which some one has trampled upon this morning. These gardeners are the most careless people in the world; in bringing the horse out to the water they've allowed him to walk over the border."

       D'Artagnan began to smile. "Ah! you think so, do you?"

       And he took his friend along the alley, where a number of tracks like those which had trampled down the flowerbeds, were visible.

       "Here are the horse's hoofs again, it seems, Athos," he said carelessly. "Yes, indeed, the marks are recent."

       "Quite so," replied the lieutenant.

       "Who went out this morning?" Athos asked, uneasily. "Has any horse got loose?"

       "Not likely," answered the Gascon; "these marks are regular."

       "Where is Raoul?" asked Athos; "how is it that I have not seen him?"

       "Hush!" exclaimed D'Artagnan, putting his finger on his lips; and he related what he had seen, watching Athos all the while. "Ah, he's gone to Blois; the poor boy----"

       "Wherefore?"

       "Ah, to inquire after the little La Valliere; she has sprained her foot, you know."

       "You think he has?"

       "I am sure of it," said Athos; "don't you see that Raoul is in love?"

       "Indeed! with whom--with a child seven years old?"

       "Dear friend, at Raoul's age the heart is so expansive that it must encircle one object or another, fancied or real. Well, his love is half

       real, half fanciful. She is the prettiest little creature in the world, with flaxen hair, blue eyes,--at once saucy and languishing."

       "But what say you to Raoul's fancy?"

       "Nothing--I laugh at Raoul; but this first desire of the heart is imperious. I remember, just at his age, how deep in love I was with a Grecian statue which our good king, then Henry IV., gave my father, insomuch that I was mad with grief when they told me that the story of Pygmalion was nothing but a fable."

       "It is mere want of occupation. You do not make Raoul work, so he takes his own way of employing himself."

       "Exactly; therefore I think of sending him away from here."

       "You will be wise to do so."

       "No doubt of it; but it will break his heart. So long as three or four years ago he used to adorn and adore his little idol, whom he will some day fall in love with in right earnest if he remains here. The parents of little La Valliere have for a long time perceived and been amused at it; now they begin to look concerned."

       "Nonsense! However, Raoul must be diverted from this fancy. Send him away or you will never make a man of him."

       "I think I shall send him to Paris."

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       "So!" thought D'Artagnan, and it seemed to him that the moment for attack had arrived.

       "Suppose," he said, "we roughly chalk out a career for this young man. I wish to consult you about some thing." "Do so."

       "Do you think it is time for us to enter the service?" "But are you not still in the service--you, D'Artagnan?"

       "I mean active service. Our former life, has it still no attractions for you? would you not be happy to begin anew in my society and in that of Porthos, the exploits of our youth?"

       "Do you propose to me to do so, D'Artagnan?" "Decidedly and honestly."

       "On whose side?" asked Athos, fixing his clear, benevolent glance on the countenance of the Gascon.

       "Ah, devil take it, you speak in earnest----"

       "And must have a definite answer. Listen, D'Artagnan. There is but one person, or rather, one cause, to whom a man like me can be

       useful--that of the king." "Exactly," answered the musketeer.

       "Yes,