“Only reflect, my good fellow,” said Athos, “it is but dying rather sooner.”
“Pooh! a little sooner or a little later, it isn’t worth quarreling over.”
“If I am astonished at anything,” remarked Porthos, sententiously, “it is that it has not already happened.”
“Oh, it will happen, you may be sure,” said d’Artagnan. “So it is agreed, and if Porthos makes no objection—”
“I,” said Porthos, “I will do whatever you please; and besides, I think what the Comte de la Fère said just now is very good.”
“But your future career, d’Artagnan—your ambition, Porthos?”
“Our future, our ambition!” replied d’Artagnan, with feverish volubility. “Need we think of that since we are to save the king? The king saved—we shall assemble our friends together—we will head the Puritans—reconquer England; we shall re-enter London—place him securely on his throne—”
“And he will make us dukes and peers,” said Porthos, whose eyes sparkled with joy at this imaginary prospect.
“Or he will forget us,” added d’Artagnan.
“Oh!” said Porthos.
“Well, that has happened, friend Porthos. It seems to me that we once rendered Anne of Austria a service not much less than that which today we are trying to perform for Charles I; but, none the less, Anne of Austria has forgotten us for twenty years.”
“Well, in spite of that, d’Artagnan,” said Athos, “you are not sorry that you were useful to her?”
“No, indeed,” said d’Artagnan; “I admit even that in my darkest moments I find consolation in that remembrance.”
“You see, then, d’Artagnan, though princes often are ungrateful, God never is.”
“Athos,” said d’Artagnan, “I believe that were you to fall in with the devil, you would conduct yourself so well that you would take him with you to Heaven.”
“So, then?” said Athos, offering his hand to d’Artagnan.
“ ’Tis settled,” replied d’Artagnan. “I find England a charming country, and I stay—but on one condition only.”
“What is it?”
“That I am not forced to learn English.”
“Well, now,” said Athos, triumphantly, “I swear to you, my friend, by the God who hears us—I believe that there is a power watching over us, and that we shall all four see France again.”
“So be it!” said d’Artagnan, “but I—I confess I have a contrary conviction.”
“Our good d’Artagnan,” said Aramis, “represents among us the opposition in parliament, which always says no, and always does aye.”
“But in the meantime saves the country,” added Athos.
“Well, now that everything is decided,” cried Porthos, rubbing his hands, “suppose we think of dinner! It seems to me that in the most critical positions of our lives we have always dined.”
“Oh! yes, speak of dinner in a country where for a feast they eat boiled mutton, and as a treat drink beer. What the devil did you come to such a country for, Athos? But I forgot,” added the Gascon, smiling, “pardon, I forgot you are no longer Athos; but never mind, let us hear your plan for dinner, Porthos.”
“My plan!”
“Yes, have you a plan?”
“No! I am hungry, that is all.”
“Pardieu, if that is all, I am hungry, too; but it is not everything to be hungry, one must find something to eat, unless we browse on the grass, like our horses—”
“Ah!” exclaimed Aramis, who was not quite so indifferent to the good things of the earth as Athos, “do you remember, when we were at Parpaillot, the beautiful oysters that we ate?”
“And the legs of mutton of the salt marshes,” said Porthos, smacking his lips.
“But,” suggested d’Artagnan, “have we not our friend Mousqueton, who managed for us so well at Chantilly, Porthos?”
“Yes,” said Porthos, “we have Mousqueton, but since he has been steward, he has become very heavy; never mind, let us call him, and to make sure that he will reply agreeably—
“Here! Mouston,” cried Porthos.
Mouston appeared, with a most piteous face.
“What is the matter, my dear M. Mouston?” asked d’Artagnan. “Are you ill?”
“Sir, I am very hungry,” replied Mouston.
“Well, it is just for that reason that we have called you, my good M. Mouston. Could you not procure us a few of those nice little rabbits, and some of those delicious partridges, of which you used to make fricassees at the hotel—? ’Faith, I do not remember the name of the hotel.”
“At the hotel of—,” said Porthos; “by my faith—nor do I remember it either.”
“It does not matter; and a few of those bottles of old Burgundy wine, which cured your master so quickly of his sprain!”
“Alas! sir,” said Mousqueton, “I much fear that what you ask for are very rare things in this detestable and barren country, and I think we should do better to go and seek hospitality from the owner of a little house we see on the fringe of the forest.”
“How! is there a house in the neighborhood?” asked d’Artagnan.
“Yes, sir,” replied Mousqueton.
“Well, let us, as you say, go and ask a dinner from the master of that house. What is your opinion, gentlemen, and does not M. Mouston’s suggestion appear to you full of sense?”
“Oh!” said Aramis, “suppose the master is a Puritan?”
“So much the better, mordioux!” replied d’Artagnan; “if he is a Puritan we will inform him of the capture of the king, and in honor of the news he will kill for us his fatted hens.”
“But if he should be a cavalier?” said Porthos.
“In that case we will put on an air of mourning and he will pluck for us his black fowls.”
“You are very happy,” exclaimed Athos, laughing, in spite of himself, at the sally of the irresistible Gascon; “for you see the bright side of everything.”
“What would you have?” said d’Artagnan. “I come from a land where there is not a cloud in the sky.”
“It is not like this, then,” said Porthos stretching out his hand to assure himself whether a chill sensation he felt on his cheek was not really caused by a drop of rain.
“Come, come,” said d’Artagnan, “more reason why we should start on our journey. Halloa, Grimaud!”
Grimaud
