Twenty years after
“No!” replied D’Artagnan, “deuce take it, the campaign is going to
begin; I wish to be there, I expect to get something by it.”
“What do you expect to get?”
“Why, I expect to be made Maréchal of France!”
“Ha! ha!” cried Porthos, who was not completely taken in by
D’Artagnan’s Gasconades.
“Come my brother, go with me,” added D’Artagnan, “and I will see that
you are made a duke!”
“No,” answered Porthos, “Mouston has no desire to fight; besides, they
have erected a triumphal arch for me to enter my barony, which will
kill my neighbors with envy.”
“To that I can say nothing,” returned D’Artagnan, who knew the vanity
of the new baron. “Then, here’s to our next merry meeting!”
“Adieu, dear captain,” said Porthos, “I shall always be happy to
welcome you to my barony.”
“Yes, yes, when the campaign is over,” replied the Gascon.
“His honor’s equipage is waiting,” said Mousqueton.
The two friends, after a cordial pressure of the hands, separated.
D’Artagnan was standing at the door looking after Porthos with a
mournful gaze, when the baron, after walking scarcely more than twenty
paces, returned—stood still—struck his forehead with his finger and
exclaimed:
“I recollect!”
“What?” inquired D’Artagnan.
“Who the beggar was that I killed.”
“Ah! indeed! and who was he?”
“’Twas that low fellow, Bonacieux.”
And Porthos, enchanted at having relieved his mind, rejoined Mousqueton
and they disappeared around an angle of the street. D’Artagnan stood
for an instant, mute, pensive and motionless; then, as he went in, he
saw the fair Madeleine, his hostess, standing on the threshold.
“Madeleine,” said the Gascon, “give me your apartment on the first
floor; now that I am a captain in the royal musketeers I must make an
appearance; nevertheless, reserve my old room on the fifth story for
me; one never knows what may happen.”