Athos approached and hung over the youth in an attitude full of tender melancholy; he looked long on this young man, whose smiling mouth and half closed eyes bespoke soft dreams and lightest slumber, as if his guardian angel watched over him with solicitude and affection. By degrees Athos gave himself up to the charms of his reverie in the proximity of youth, so pure, so fresh. His own youth seemed to reappear, bringing with it all those savoury remembrances, which are like perfumes more than thoughts. Between the past and the present was an ineffable abyss. But imagination has the wings of an angel of light and travels safely through or over the seas where we have been almost shipwrecked, the darkness in which our illusions are lost, the precipice whence our happiness has been hurled and swallowed up. He remembered that all the first part of his life had been embittered by a woman and he thought with alarm of the influence love might assume over so fine, and at the same time so vigorous an organization as that of Raoul.
In recalling all he had been through, he foresaw all that Raoul might suffer; and the expression of the deep and tender compassion which throbbed in his heart was pictured in the moist eye with which he gazed on the young man.
At this moment Raoul awoke, without a cloud on his face—without weariness or lassitude; his eyes were fixed on those of Athos and perhaps he comprehended all that passed in the heart of the man who was awaiting his awakening as a lover awaits the awakening of his mistress, for his glance, in return, had all the tenderness of love.
“You are there, sir?” he said, respectfully.
“Yes, Raoul,” replied the count.
“And you did not awaken me?”
“I wished to leave you still to enjoy some moments of sleep, my child; you must be fatigued from yesterday.”
“Oh, sir, how good you are!”
Athos smiled.
“How do you feel this morning?” he inquired.
“Perfectly well; quite rested, sir.”
“You are still growing,” Athos continued, with that charming and paternal interest felt by a grown man for a youth.
“Oh, sir, I beg your pardon!” exclaimed Raoul, ashamed of so much attention; “in an instant I shall be dressed.”
Athos then called Olivain.
“Everything,” said Olivain to Athos, “has been done according to your directions; the horses are waiting.”
“And I was asleep,” cried Raoul, “whilst you, sir, you had the kindness to attend to all these details. Truly, sir, you overwhelm me with benefits!”
“Therefore you love me a little, I hope,” replied Athos, in a tone of emotion.
“Oh, sir! God knows how much I love, revere you.”
“See that you forget nothing,” said Athos, appearing to look about him, that he might hide his emotion.
“No, indeed, sir,” answered Raoul.
The servant then approached Athos and said, hesitatingly:
“Monsieur le Vicomte has no sword.”
“ ’Tis well,” said Athos, “I will take care of that.”
They went downstairs, Raoul looking every now and then at the count to see if the moment of farewell was at hand, but Athos was silent. When they reached the steps Raoul saw three horses.
“Oh, sir! then you are going with me?”
“I will accompany you a portion of the way,” said Athos.
Joy shone in Raoul’s eyes and he leaped lightly to his saddle.
Athos mounted more slowly, after speaking in a low voice to the lackey, who, instead of following them immediately, returned to their rooms. Raoul, delighted at the count’s companionship, perceived, or affected to perceive, nothing of this byplay.
They set out, passing over the Pont Neuf; they pursued their way along the quay then called L’Abreuvoir Pepin, and went along by the walls of the Grand Châtelet. They proceeded to the Rue Saint Denis.
After passing through the Porte Saint Denis, Athos looked at Raoul’s way of riding and observed:
“Take care, Raoul! I have already often told you of this; you must not forget it, for it is a great defect in a rider. See! your horse is tired already, he froths at the mouth, whilst mine looks as if he had only just left the stable. You hold the bit too tight and so make his mouth hard, so that you will not be able to make him manoeuvre quickly. The safety of a cavalier often depends on the prompt obedience of his horse. In a week, remember, you will no longer be performing your manoeuvres for practice, but on a field of battle.”
Then suddenly, in order not to give too uncomfortable an importance to this observation:
“See, Raoul!” he resumed; “what a fine plain for partridge shooting.”
The young man stored in his mind the admonition whilst he admired the delicate tenderness with which it was bestowed.
“I have remarked also another thing,” said Athos, “which is, that in firing off your pistol you hold your arm too far outstretched. This tension lessens the accuracy of the aim. So in twelve times you thrice missed the mark.”
“Which you, sir, struck twelve times,” answered Raoul, smiling.
“Because I bent my arm and rested my hand on my elbow—so; do you understand what I mean?”
“Yes, sir. I have fired since in that manner and have been quite successful.”
“What a cold wind!” resumed Athos; “a wintry blast. Apropos, if you fire—and you will do so, for you are recommended to a young general who is very fond of powder—remember that in single combat, which often takes place in the cavalry, never to fire the first shot. He who fires the first shot rarely hits his man, for he fires with the apprehension of being disarmed, before an armed foe; then, whilst he fires, make your horse rear; that manoeuvre has saved my life several times.”
“I shall do so, if only in gratitude—”
“Eh!” cried Athos, “are not those fellows poachers they have arrested yonder? They are. Then another important thing, Raoul: should you be wounded in a battle, and fall from your horse, if you have any strength left, disentangle yourself from the line that your regiment has formed; otherwise,
