"Athos bequeaths to you Raoul, and I bequeath to you my revenge. If by any good luck you lay your hand on a certain man named Mordaunt, tell Porthos to take him into a corner and to wring his neck. I dare not say more in a letter.
"ARAMIS.
"If that is all, it is easily done," said Porthos.
"On the contrary," observed D'Artagnan, with a vexed look;
"it would be impossible."
"How so?"
"It is precisely this Monsieur Mordaunt whom we are going to join at Boulogne and with whom we cross to England."
"Well, suppose instead of joining this Monsieur Mordaunt we were to go and join our friends?" said Porthos, with a gesture fierce enough to have frightened an army.
"I did think of it, but this letter has neither date nor postmark."
"True," said Porthos. And he began to wander about the room like a man beside himself, gesticulating and half drawing his sword out of the scabbard.
As to D'Artagnan, he remained standing like a man in consternation, with the deepest affliction depicted on his face.
"Ah, this is not right; Athos insults us; he wishes to die alone; it is bad, bad, bad."
Musqueton, witnessing this despair, melted into tears in a corner of the room.
"Come," said D'Artagnan, "all this leads to nothing. Let us go on. We will embrace Raoul, and perhaps he will have news of Athos."
"Stop -- an idea!" cried Porthos; "indeed, my dear D'Artagnan, I don't know how you manage, but you are always full of ideas; let us go and embrace Raoul."
"Woe to that man who should happen to contradict my master at this moment," said Musqueton to himself; "I wouldn't give a farthing for his life."
They set out. On arriving at the Rue Saint Denis, the friends found a vast concourse of people. It was the Duc de Beaufort, who was coming from the Vendomois and whom the coadjutor was showing to the Parisians, intoxicated with joy. With the duke's aid they already considered themselves invincible.
The two friends turned off into a side street to avoid meeting the prince, and so reached the Saint Denis gate.
"Is it true," said the guard to the two cavaliers, "that the Duc de Beaufort has arrived in Paris?"
"Nothing more certain; and the best proof of it is," said D'Artagnan, "that he has dispatched us to meet the Duc de Vendome, his father, who is coming in his turn."
"Long live De Beaufort!" cried the guards, and they drew back respectfully to let the two friends pass. Once across the barriers these two knew neither fatigue nor fear. Their horses flew, and they never ceased speaking of Athos and Aramis.
The camp had entered Saint Omer; the friends made a little detour and went to the camp, and gave the army an exact account of the flight of the king and queen. They found Raoul near his tent, reclining on a truss of hay, of which his horse stole some mouthfuls; the young man's eyes were red and he seemed dejected. The Marechal de Grammont and the Comte de Guiche had returned to Paris and he was quite lonely. And as soon as he saw the two cavaliers he ran to them with open arms.
"Oh, is it you, dear friends? Did you come here to fetch me?
Will you take me away with you? Do you bring me tidings of my guardian?"
"Have you not received any?" said D'Artagnan to the youth.
"Alas! sir, no, and I do not know what has become of him; so that I am really so unhappy that I weep."
In fact, tears rolled down his cheeks.
Porthos turned aside, in order not to show by his honest round face what was passing in his mind.
"Deuce take it!" cried D'Artagnan, more moved than he had been for a long time, "don't despair, my friend, if you have not received any letters from the count, we have received one."
"Oh, really!" cried Raoul.
"And a comforting one, too," added D'Artagnan, seeing the delight that his intelligence gave the young man.
"Have you it?" asked Raoul "Yes -- that is, I had it," repined the Gascon, ****** believe to find it. "Wait, it ought to be there in my pocket; it speaks of his return, does it not, Porthos?"
All Gascon as he was, D'Artagnan could not bear alone the weight of that falsehood.
"Yes," replied Porthos, coughing.
"Eh, give it to me!" said the young man.
"Eh! I read it a little while since. Can I have lost it? Ah! confound it! yes, my pocket has a hole in it."
"Oh, yes, Monsieur Raoul!" said Musqueton, "the letter was very consoling. These gentlemen read it to me and I wept for joy."
"But at any rate, you know where he is, Monsieur d'Artagnan?" asked Raoul, somewhat comforted.
"Ah! that's the thing!" replied the Gascon. "Undoubtedly I know it, but it is a mystery."
"Not to me, I hope?"
"No, not to you, so I am going to tell you where he is."
Porthos devoured D'Artagnan with wondering eyes.
"Where the devil shall I say that he is, so that he cannot try to rejoin him?" thought D'Artagnan.
"Well, where is he, sir?" asked Raoul, in a soft and coaxing voice.
"He is at Constantinople."
"Among the Turks!" exclaimed Raoul, alarmed. "Good heavens! how can you tell me that?"
"Does that alarm you?" cried D'Artagnan. "Pooh! what are the Turks to such men as the Comte de la Fere and the Abbe d'Herblay?"
"Ah, his friend is with him?" said Raoul. "That comforts me a little."
"Has he wit or not -- this demon D'Artagnan?" said Porthos, astonished at his friend's deception.
"Now, sir," said D'Artagnan, wishing to change the conversation, "here are fifty pistoles that the count has sent you by the same courier. I suppose you have no more money and that they will be welcome."
"I have still twenty pistoles, sir."
"Well, take them; that makes seventy."
"And if you wish for more," said Porthos, putting his hand to his pocket ---- "Thank you, sir," replied Raoul, blushing; "thank you a thousand times."
At this moment Olivain appeared. "Apropos," said D'Artagnan, loud enough for the servant to hear him, "are you satisfied with Olivain?"
"Yes, in some respects, tolerably well."
Olivain pretended to have heard nothing and entered the tent.
"What fault do you find with the fellow?"
"He is a glutton."
"Oh, sir!" cried Olivain, reappearing at this accusation.
"And a little bit of a thief."
"Oh, sir! oh!"
"And, more especially, a notorious coward."