“Of a quartan fever, then?”
“I have never had one yet, and I don’t believe I ever shall; but there is one thing I will admit,” and Porthos dropped his voice.
“What is that?” asked D’Artagnan, adopting the same tone of voice as Porthos.
“I must confess,” repeated Porthos, “that I am horribly afraid of politics.”
“Ah, bah!” exclaimed D’Artagnan.
“Upon my word, it’s true,” said Porthos, in a stentorian voice. “I have seen his eminence Monsieur le Cardinal de Richelieu, and his eminence Monsieur le Cardinal de Mazarin; the one was a red politician, the other a black politician; I never felt very much more satisfied with the one than with the other; the first struck off the heads of M. de Marillac, M. de Thou, M. de Cinq-Mars, M. Chalais, M. de Bouteville, and M. de Montmorency; the second got a whole crowd of Frondeurs cut in pieces, and we belonged to them.”
“On the contrary, we did not belong to them,” said D’Artagnan.
“Oh! indeed, yes; for if I unsheathed my sword for the cardinal, I struck it for the king.”
“My good Porthos!”
“Well, I have done. My dread of politics is such, that if there is any question of politics in the matter, I should greatly prefer to return to Pierrefonds.”