Chapter 43 - Page 2

Aramis,” said Porthos, majestically.

“My friend, if it had only depended upon me, you should have become a prince.”

Porthos began to bite his nails after a melancholy fashion. “That is where you have been wrong,” continued he, “in deceiving me; for that promised duchy I reckoned upon. Oh, I reckoned upon it seriously, knowing you to be a man of your word, Aramis.”

“Poor Porthos! pardon me, I implore you!”

“So, then,” continued Porthos, without replying to the bishop’s prayer,- “so then, it seems, I have quite fallen out with Louis XIV?”

“Oh, I will settle all that, my good friend; I will settle all that. I will take it upon myself alone!”

“Aramis!”

“No, no, Porthos, I conjure you, let me act. No false generosity; no inopportune devotedness! You knew nothing of my projects; you have done nothing of yourself. With me it is different. I alone am the author of the plot. I stood in need of my inseparable companion; I called upon you, and you came to me in remembrance of our ancient device, ‘All for one, one for all.’ My crime was that of being an egotist.”

“Now, that is the word I like,” said Porthos; “and seeing that you have acted entirely for yourself, it is impossible for me to blame you. It is so natural.” And upon this sublime reflection, Porthos pressed the hand of his friend cordially.

In presence of this ingenuous greatness of soul, Aramis felt himself little. It was the second time he had been compelled to bend before real superiority of heart, much more powerful than splendor of mind. He replied by a mute and energetic pressure to the kind endearment of his friend.

“Now,” said Porthos, “that we have come to an explanation, now that I am perfectly aware of our situation with respect to Louis XIV, I think, my friend, it is time to make me comprehend the political intrigue of which we are the victims,- for I plainly see there is a political intrigue at the bottom of all this.”

“D’Artagnan, my good Porthos, d’Artagnan is coming and will detail it to you in all its circumstances; but excuse me, I am overcome with grief, bowed down by pain, and I have need of all my presence of mind, of all my reflection, to extricate you from the false position in which I have so imprudently involved you; but nothing can be more clear, nothing more plain, than your position henceforth. The King, Louis XIV, has now but one enemy; that enemy is myself, myself alone. I have made you a prisoner, you have followed me; to-day I liberate you, you fly back to your Prince. You can perceive, Porthos, there is not a single difficulty in all this.”

“Do you think so?” said Porthos.