The Man in the Iron Mask
In Which Porthos Thinks He Is Pursuing a Duchy.
Aramis and Porthos, having by the time them by Fouquet, did to the French by their speed. Porthos did not on what of mission he was to so much velocity; but as he saw Aramis on furiously, he, Porthos, on in the same way. They had soon, in this manner, twelve them and Vaux; they were then to horses, and a of post arrangement. It was a that Porthos to Aramis discreetly.
“Hush!” the latter, “know only that our on our speed.”
As if Porthos had still been the musketeer, without a or a of 1626, he pushed forward. That magic word “fortune” always means something in the ear. It means for those who have nothing; it means too much for those who have enough.
“I shall be a duke!” said Porthos, aloud. He was speaking to himself.
“That is possible,” Aramis, after his own fashion, as Porthos’s passed him. Aramis felt, notwithstanding, as though his brain were on fire; the activity of the had not yet succeeded in that of the mind. All there is of passion, or threat, raged, and in the of the prelate. His visible of this combat. Free on the to himself to every of the moment, Aramis did not fail to at every start of his horse, at every in the road. Pale, at times with sweats, then again and icy, he his till the blood from their sides. Porthos, fault was not sensibility, at this. Thus they on for eight long hours, and then at Orleans. It was four o’clock in the afternoon. Aramis, on this, that nothing to be a possibility. It would be without example that a of taking him and Porthos should be with to perform in eight hours. Thus, pursuit, which was not at all manifest, the were five hours in of their pursuers.
Aramis that there might be no in taking a little rest, but that to continue would make the more certain. Twenty more, performed with the same rapidity, twenty more devoured, and no one, not D’Artagnan, overtake the of the king. Aramis obliged, therefore, to upon Porthos the pain of on again. They on till seven o’clock in the evening, and had only one post more them and Blois. But here a accident Aramis greatly. There were no at the post. The asked himself by what his had succeeded in him of the means of going further,—he who as a deity, who a for every accident, that the of the postmaster, at such an hour, in such a country, was the of an order from above: an order with a view of stopping the king-maker in the of his flight. But at the moment he was about to into a passion, so as to either a or an explanation, he was with the that the Comte de la Fere in the neighborhood.
“I am not traveling,” said he; “I do not want for a whole stage. Find me two to go and pay a visit to a of my who near this place.”
“What nobleman?” asked the postmaster.
“M. le Comte de la Fere.”
“Oh!” the postmaster, with respect, “a very nobleman. But, may be my to make myself to him, I cannot you with horses, for all mine are by M. le Duc de Beaufort.”
“Indeed!” said Aramis, much disappointed.
“Only,” the postmaster, “if you will put up with a little I have, I will an old who has still his left, and will you to the house of M. le Comte de la Fere.”
“It is a louis,” said Aramis.
“No, monsieur, such a is no more than a crown; that is what M. Grimaud, the comte’s intendant, always pays me when he makes use of that carriage; and I should not wish the Comte de la Fere to have to me with having on one of his friends.”
“As you please,” said Aramis, “particularly as the Comte de la Fere; only I think I have a right to give you a for your idea.”
“Oh! doubtless,” the with delight. And he himself the to the carriage. In the meantime Porthos was to behold. He he had a to the secret, and he pleased, a visit to Athos, in the place, promised him much satisfaction, and, in the next, gave him the of at the same time a good and good supper. The master, having got the ready, ordered one of his men to drive the to La Fere. Porthos took his seat by the of Aramis, in his ear, “I understand.”
“Aha!” said Aramis, “and what do you understand, my friend?”
“We are going, on the part of the king, to make some great to Athos.”
“Pooh!” said Aramis.
“You need tell me nothing about it,” added the Porthos, to himself so as to avoid the jolting, “you need tell me nothing, I shall guess.”
“Well! do, my friend; away.”
They at Athos’s about nine o’clock in the evening, by a moon. This light Porthos expression; but Aramis appeared by it in an equal degree. He not help something of this to Porthos, who replied—“Ay! ay! I how it is! the mission is a one.”
These were his last in the carriage. The driver him by saying, “Gentlemen, we have arrived.”
Porthos and his the gate of the little chateau, where we are about to meet again our old Athos and Bragelonne, the of had since the of the of La Valliere. If there be one saying than another, it is this: great themselves the of consolation. This painful wound, upon Raoul, had him nearer to his father again; and God how sweet were the which from the mouth and of Athos. The was not cicatrized, but Athos, by of with his son and mixing a little more of his life with that of the man, had him to that this of a is necessary to every existence; and that no one has loved without it. Raoul listened, again and again, but understood. Nothing in the the and of the object. Raoul then to the of his father:
“Monsieur, all that you tell me is true; I that no one has in the of the so much as you have; but you are a man too great by of intelligence, and too by not to allow for the of the soldier who for the time. I am paying a that will not be paid a second time; permit me to myself so in my that I may myself in it, that I may my in it.”
“Raoul! Raoul!”
“Listen, monsieur. Never shall I myself to the idea that Louise, the and most of women, has been able to so a man so and so true a lover as myself. Never can I myself that I see that sweet and into a face. Louise lost! Louise infamous! Ah! monseigneur, that idea is much more to me than Raoul abandoned—Raoul unhappy!”
Athos then the remedy. He Louise against Raoul, and her by her love. “A woman who would have to a king he is a king,” said he, “would to be infamous; but Louise loves Louis. Young, both, they have forgotten, he his rank, she her vows. Love everything, Raoul. The two people love each other with sincerity.”
And when he had this poniard-thrust, Athos, with a sigh, saw Raoul away the wound, and to the of the wood, or the of his chamber, whence, an hour after, he would return, pale, trembling, but subdued. Then, up to Athos with a smile, he would his hand, like the dog who, having been beaten, a master, to his fault. Raoul nothing but his weakness, and only his grief. Thus passed away the days that that in which Athos had so the of the king. Never, when with his son, did he make any to that scene; did he give him the of that lecture, which might, perhaps, have the man, by him his humbled. Athos did not wish that the lover should the respect to his king. And when Bragelonne, ardent, angry, and melancholy, spoke with of words, of the which from promises that from thrones, when, over two centuries, with that of a bird that a narrow to go from one to the other, Raoul to the time in which kings would be as less than other men, Athos said to him, in his serene, voice, “You are right, Raoul; all that you say will happen; kings will their privileges, as which have their their splendor. But when that moment comes, Raoul, we shall be dead. And well what I say to you. In this world, all, men, women, and kings, must live for the present. We can only live for the for God.”
This was the manner in which Athos and Raoul were, as usual, conversing, and walking and in the long of in the park, when the which to to the either the hour of dinner or the of a visitor, was rung; and, without attaching any to it, he the house with his son; and at the end of the they themselves in the presence of Aramis and Porthos.
