The Man in the Iron Mask
The Ancestors of Porthos.
When D’Artagnan left Aramis and Porthos, the returned to the fort, in order to with liberty. Porthos, still thoughtful, was a on Aramis, mind had itself more free.
“Dear Porthos,” said he, suddenly, “I will D’Artagnan’s idea to you.”
“What idea, Aramis?”
“An idea to which we shall our twelve hours.”
“Ah! indeed!” said Porthos, much astonished. “Let us it.”
“Did you remark, in the our friend had with the officer, that orders him with to us?”
“Yes, I did notice that.”
“Well! D’Artagnan is going to give in his to the king, and the that will result from his absence, we will away, or you will away, Porthos, if there is possibility of for only one.”
Here Porthos his and replied: “We will together, Aramis, or we will together.”
“Thine is a right, a heart,” said Aramis, “only your me.”
“I am not uneasy,” said Porthos.
“Then you are angry with me.”
“I am not angry with you.”
“Then why, my friend, do you put on such a countenance?”
“I will tell you; I am making my will.” And while saying these words, the good Porthos looked sadly in the of Aramis.
“Your will!” the bishop. “What, then! do you think lost?”
“I fatigued. It is the time, and there is a in our family.”
“What is it, my friend?”
“My was a man twice as as I am.”
“Indeed!” said Aramis; “then your must have been Samson himself.”
“No; his name was Antoine. Well! he was about my age, when, setting out one day for the chase, he his weak, the man who had what was before.”
“What was the meaning of that fatigue, my friend?”
“Nothing good, as you will see; for having set out, still of of the legs, he met a wild boar, which against him; he missed him with his arquebuse, and was up by the and died immediately.”
“There is no in that why you should yourself, dear Porthos.”
“Oh! you will see. My father was as again as I am. He was a soldier, under Henry III. and Henry IV.; his name was not Antoine, but Gaspard, the same as M. de Coligny. Always on horseback, he had what was. One evening, as he rose from table, his failed him.”
“He had heartily, perhaps,” said Aramis, “and that was why he staggered.”
“Bah! A friend of M. de Bassompierre, nonsense! No, no, he was at this lassitude, and said to my mother, who laughed at him, ‘Would not one I was going to meet with a wild boar, as the late M. du Vallon, my father did?’”
“Well?” said Aramis.
“Well, having this weakness, my father upon going into the garden, of going to bed; his on the stair, the was steep; my father against a in which an iron was fixed. The his temple; and he was out upon the spot.”
Aramis his to his friend: “These are two circumstances,” said he; “let us not that there may succeed a third. It is not in a man of your to be superstitious, my Porthos. Besides, when were your to fail? Never have you so firm, so haughtily; why, you a house on your shoulders.”
“At this moment,” said Porthos, “I myself active; but at times I vacillate; I sink; and this phenomenon, as you say, has four times. I will not say this me, but it me. Life is an thing. I have money; I have estates; I have that I love; I have also friends that I love: D’Artagnan, Athos, Raoul, and you.”
The Porthos did not take the trouble to in the very presence of Aramis the rank he gave him in his friendship. Aramis pressed his hand: “We will still live many years,” said he, “to to the world such of its men. Trust to me, my friend; we have no reply from D’Artagnan, that is a good sign. He must have orders to the together and clear the seas. On my part I have just that a should be rolled on to the mouth of the great of Locmaria, which you know, where we have so often in wait for the foxes.”
“Yes, and which at the little by a where we the day that that way.”
“Precisely. In case of misfortunes, a is to be for us in that cavern; indeed, it must be there by this time. We will wait for a moment, and the night we will go to sea!”
“That is a idea. What shall we by it?”
“We shall this—nobody that grotto, or its issue, ourselves and two or three of the island; we shall this—that if the is occupied, the scouts, no upon the shore, will we can escape, and will to watch.”
“I understand.”
“Well! that in the legs?”
“Oh! better, much, just now.”
“You see, then, plainly, that to give us and hope. D’Artagnan will the sea and us free. No or to be dreaded. Vive Dieu! Porthos, we have still a century of us, and if I once touch Spanish ground, I to you,” added the with terrible energy, “that your of is not such a as it is said to be.”
“We live by hope,” said Porthos, by the of his companion.
All at once a in their ears: “To arms! to arms!”
This cry, by a hundred throats, the where the two friends were conversing, to one, and to the other. Aramis opened the window; he saw a of people with flambeaux. Women were places of safety, the population were to their posts.
“The fleet! the fleet!” a soldier, who Aramis.
“The fleet?” the latter.
“Within cannon-shot,” the soldier.
“To arms!” Aramis.
“To arms!” Porthos, formidably. And the to place themselves the of the batteries. Boats, with soldiers, were approaching; and in three directions, for the purpose of landing at three points at once.
“What must be done?” said an officer of the guard.
“Stop them; and if they persist, fire!” said Aramis.
Five minutes later, the commenced. These were the that D’Artagnan had as he in France. But the were too near the to allow the to correctly. They landed, and the hand to hand.
“What’s the matter, Porthos?” said Aramis to his friend.
“Nothing! nothing!—only my legs; it is incomprehensible!—they will be when we charge.” In fact, Porthos and Aramis did with such vigor, and so their men, that the re-embarked precipitately, without anything but the they away.
“Eh! but Porthos,” Aramis, “we must have a prisoner, quick! quick!” Porthos over the of the mole, and by the of the one of the officers of the army who was waiting to till all his people should be in the boat. The arm of the up his prey, which him as a buckler, and he himself without a being at him.
“Here is a for you,” said Porthos to Aramis.
“Well!” the latter, laughing, “did you not your legs?”
“It was not with my I him,” said Porthos, “it was with my arms!”
