The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [143]
Bazin, completely at a loss to explain his master’s sudden change of mood, gaped helplessly at him; in his surprise, he allowed the omelette to slip into the spinach and the spinach to plop on to the floor.
“Now is the moment for you to consecrate your existence to the King of Kings,” D’Artagnan exalted. “If you would honor him, I remember a phrase: Non inutile desiderium oblatione!”
“To the Devil with you and your Latin! Let us drink, my dear D’Artagnan, let us drink aplenty while the wine is fresh, let us drink mightily and, whilst we do, tell me about what is happening in the civilized world.”
XXVII
OF ATHOS AND OF HIS WIFE
Having told Aramis everything that had occurred since their departure from the capital, having downed a dinner which dispelled his fatigue, having seen all thought of a thesis vanish from the mind of Aramis, and having delighted in the musketeer’s high spirits:
“Now all that remains for us to do is to find out what has happened to Athos,” D’Artagnan said with pardonable satisfaction.
“Do you think he has come to grief?” Aramis asked. “Surely not Athos, who is so cool, so brave and such an expert swordsman?”
“True, Aramis, no one values his skill and his courage more than I. But I prefer to think of his blade clanging against the steel of gentlemen than against the staves of varlets. I am afraid he has been struck down by a rabble of churls; those fellows strike hard with their cudgels and they do not stop when they draw blood! That is why I confess I would like to set off as soon as possible.”
“I will do my best to accompany you, D’Artagnan. But I must say I scarcely feel up to riding horseback very vigorously. Only yesterday I tried using that scourge you see hanging on the wall and I was in too much pain to continue that pious discipline of flagellation.”
“Well, Aramis, who ever heard of anyone trying to cure a gunshot wound by whipping himself with a scourge, however consecrated? But of course you were ill and illness makes a man light-headed indeed, so I forgive you for your excesses.”
“When do you mean to set out?”
“Tomorrow at daybreak. Rest as soundly as you can tonight; tomorrow if you are fit, we will ride off together.”
“Good night then and until tomorrow!” Aramis said. “Your nerves may be of iron, but you could do with a bit of rest yourself, D’Artagnan.”
Next morning when D’Artagnan called on Aramis he found his friend at the window.
“What on earth are you staring at?” he asked.
“Upon my word I was admiring those three magnificent horses which the stable boys are grooming. What a princely joy to ride on such steeds!”
“Well, my dear Aramis, that joy will be yours, for one of them belongs to you.”
“Either stop joking this early in the morning, my friend, or tell me which horse is mine?”
“Whichever of the three you choose, Aramis; I myself have no preference.”
“What about that sumptuous caparison?” Aramis inquired skeptically. “I suppose it is also mine.”
“Of course!”
“Come, D’Artagnan, you are fooling . . .”
“No, I have ceased to fool ever since you decided to give up speaking Latin and reverted to French.”
“Do you mean to say that those gilded holsters, that velvet horsecloth and that saddle studded with silver are mine too?”
“They are as much your own as that steed pawing the ground belongs to me and the one prancing belongs to Athos.”
“The Devil you say! Magnificent beasts, they are!”
“I am very glad you like them.”
“Only the King could have made you such a present.”
“It could hardly have been the Cardinal. But never mind where they came from, Aramis; just remember that one of them is yours.”
“I choose the one that ginger-headed stable boy over there is pacing.”
“It is yours for the asking, Aramis.”
“Praise God, this is enough to banish all my pain; I could ride that horse with thirty bullets inside me. Bless my soul, look at those handsome stirrups! Ho, Bazin, come here at once!” A dull and dispirited Bazin shuffled in. “Polish up my sword, prepare my hat, brush my cloak, and load my