The Man in the Iron Mask
Porthos’s Will.
At Pierrefonds was in mourning. The were deserted—the closed—the neglected. In the basins, the fountains, so fresh and noisy, had stopped of themselves. Along the around the came a on or country nags. These were neighbors, and of estates. All these people entered the silently, their to a melancholy-looking groom, and their steps, by a in black, to the great dining-room, where Mousqueton them at the door. Mousqueton had so thin in two days that his moved upon him like an ill-fitting in which the sword-blade at each motion. His face, of red and white, like that of the Madonna of Vandyke, was by two which had their in his cheeks, as full as they had since his began. At each fresh arrival, Mousqueton fresh tears, and it was to see him press his with his hand to keep from into and lamentations. All these visits were for the purpose of the reading of Porthos’s will, for that day, and at which all the friends of the man were to be present, as he had left no relations him.
The visitors took their places as they arrived, and the great room had just been closed when the clock twelve, the hour for the reading of the document. Porthos’s procureur—and that was naturally the of Master Coquenard—commenced by slowly the upon which the powerful hand of Porthos had his will. The seal broken—the put on—the having sounded—every one up his ears. Mousqueton had himself in a corner, the to and the to hear. All at once the folding-doors of the great room, which had been shut, were open as if by magic, and a appeared upon the threshold, in the full light of the sun. This was D’Artagnan, who had come alone to the gate, and nobody to his stirrup, had his to the and himself. The of the room, the of all present, and, more than all, the of the dog, Mousqueton from his reverie; he his head, the old friend of his master, and, with grief, he his knees, the with his tears. D’Artagnan the intendant, him as if he had been a brother, and, having the assembly, who all as they to each other his name, he and took his seat at the of the great hall, still by the hand Mousqueton, who was with of woe, and upon the steps. Then the procureur, who, like the rest, was agitated, commenced.
Porthos, after a of of the most Christian character, asked of his for all the he might have done them. At this paragraph, a of from the of D’Artagnan.
He to his mind the old soldier; all those of Porthos to earth by his hand; he up the numbers of them, and said to himself that Porthos had wisely, not to his or the done to them, or the would have been too much for the reader. Then came the of his lands:
“I at this present time, by the of God—
“1. The of Pierrefonds, lands, woods, meadows, waters, and forests, by good walls.
“2. The of Bracieux, chateaux, forests, lands, three farms.
“3. The little Du Vallon, so named it is in the valley.” (Brave Porthos!)
“4. Fifty in Touraine, to five hundred acres.
“5. Three upon the Cher, in six hundred each.
“6. Three fish-pools in Berry, producing two hundred a year.
“As to my personal or property, so called it can be moved, as is so well by my learned friend the of Vannes—” (D’Artagnan at the to that name)—the imperturbably—“they consist—”
“1. In which I cannot detail here for want of room, and which all my or houses, but of which the list is up by my intendant.”
Every one his Mousqueton, who was still in grief.
“2. In twenty for and draught, which I have particularly at my of Pierrefonds, and which are called—Bayard, Roland, Charlemagne, Pepin, Dunois, La Hire, Ogier, Samson, Milo, Nimrod, Urganda, Armida, Flastrade, Dalilah, Rebecca, Yolande, Finette, Grisette, Lisette, and Musette.
“3. In sixty dogs, six packs, as follows: the first, for the stag; the second, for the wolf; the third, for the wild boar; the fourth, for the hare; and the two others, for and protection.
“4. In arms for and the in my of arms.
“5. My of Anjou, for Athos, who liked them formerly; my of Burgundy, Champagne, Bordeaux, and Spain, eight and twelve vaults, in my houses.
“6. My pictures and statues, which are said to be of great value, and which are to the sight.
“7. My library, of six thousand volumes, new, and have been opened.
“8. My plate, which is a little worn, but which ought to from a thousand to twelve hundred pounds, for I had great trouble in the that it and not it more than six times my chamber.
“9. All these objects, in to the table and house linen, are in the I liked the best.”
Here the reader stopped to take breath. Every one sighed, coughed, and his attention. The resumed:
“I have without having any children, and it is I shall have any, which to me is a grief. And yet I am mistaken, for I have a son, in common with my other friends; that is, M. Raoul Auguste Jules de Bragelonne, the true son of M. le Comte de la Fere.
“This to me to succeed the of I am the friend and very servant.”
Here a the reader. It was D’Artagnan’s sword, which, from his baldric, had on the flooring. Every one his that way, and saw that a large tear had rolled from the thick of D’Artagnan, half-way to his nose, the of which like a little moon.
“This is why,” the procureur, “I have left all my property, movable, or immovable, in the above enumerations, to M. le Vicomte Raoul Auguste Jules de Bragelonne, son of M. le Comte de la Fere, to him for the he to suffer, and him to add more to his already name.”
A ran through the auditory. The continued, by the of D’Artagnan, which, over the assembly, the silence:
“On condition that M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne do give to M. le Chevalier d’Artagnan, captain of the king’s musketeers, the said Chevalier d’Artagnan may of my property. On condition that M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne do pay a good pension to M. le Chevalier d’Herblay, my friend, if he should need it in exile. I to my Mousqueton all of my clothes, of city, war, or chase, to the number of forty-seven suits, in the that he will wear them till they are out, for the love of and in of his master. Moreover, I to M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne my old and friend Mousqueton, already named, providing that the said shall so act that Mousqueton shall declare, when dying, he has to be happy.”
On these words, Mousqueton bowed, and trembling; his convulsively; his countenance, by a grief, appeared from his hands, and the saw him and hesitate, as if, though to the hall, he did not know the way.
“Mousqueton, my good friend,” said D’Artagnan, “go and make your preparations. I will take you with me to Athos’s house, I shall go on Pierrefonds.”
Mousqueton no reply. He breathed, as if in that would from that time be foreign. He opened the door, and slowly disappeared.
The his reading, after which the part of those who had come to the last will of Porthos by degrees, many disappointed, but all with respect. As for D’Artagnan, thus left alone, after having the of the procureur, he was in of the of the testator, who had so his upon the most and the most worthy, with a that neither have more kindly. When Porthos Raoul de Bragelonne to give D’Artagnan all that he would ask, he well, our Porthos, that D’Artagnan would ask or take nothing; and in case he did anything, none but himself say what. Porthos left a pension to Aramis, who, if he should be to ask too much, was by the example of D’Artagnan; and that word exile, out by the testator, without intention, was it not the mildest, most upon that of Aramis which had about the death of Porthos? But there was no mention of Athos in the of the dead. Could the for a moment that the son would not offer the best part to the father? The mind of Porthos had all these causes, all these more than law, than custom, with more than taste.
“Porthos had a heart,” said D’Artagnan to himself with a sigh. As he this reflection, he he hard a in the room above him; and he of Mousqueton, he it was a to from his grief. For this purpose he left the to the intendant, as he had not returned. He the leading to the story, and perceived, in Porthos’s own chamber, a of of all colors and materials, upon which Mousqueton had himself after them all on the together. It was the of the friend. Those were his own; they had been to him; the hand of Mousqueton was over these relics, which he was with his lips, with all his face, and with his body. D’Artagnan approached to the fellow.
“My God!” said he, “he not stir—he has fainted!”
But D’Artagnan was mistaken. Mousqueton was dead! Dead, like the dog who, having his master, to die upon his cloak.
