Athos looked at his son with a profoundly sorrowful air, for the words Raoul had just pronounced seemed to have issued out of his own heart. At this moment the servant announced M. d’Artagnan. This name sounded very differently to the ears of Athos and Raoul. The musketeer entered the room with a vague smile on his lips. Raoul paused. Athos walked towards his friend with an expression of face that did not escape Bragelonne. D’Artagnan answered Athos’s look by an imperceptible movement of the eyelid; and then, advancing towards Raoul, whom he took by the hand, he said, addressing both father and son, “Well, you are trying to console this poor boy, it seems.”
“And you, kind and good as usual, have come to help me in my difficult task.”
As he said this, Athos pressed D’Artagnan’s hand between both his own. Raoul fancied he observed in this pressure something beyond the sense his mere words conveyed.
“Yes,” replied the musketeer, smoothing his mustache with the hand that Athos had left free, “yes, I have come too.”
“You are most welcome, chevalier; not for the consolation you bring with you, but on your own account. I am already consoled,” said Raoul; and he attempted to smile, but the effort was more sad than any tears D’Artagnan had ever seen shed.
“That is all well and good, then,” said D’Artagnan.
“Only,” continued Raoul, “you have arrived just as the comte was about to give me the details of his interview with the king. You will allow the comte to continue?” added the young man, as, with his eyes fixed on the musketeer, he seemed to read the very depths of his heart.
“His interview with the king?” said D’Artagnan, in a tone so natural and unassumed that there was no means of suspecting that his astonishment was feigned. “You have seen the king, then, Athos?”
Athos smiled as he said, “Yes, I have seen him.”
“Ah, indeed; you were unaware, then, that the comte had seen his majesty?” inquired Raoul, half reassured.