“You see!” said Athos, pointing to Mme. Bonacieux dead, and to D’Artagnan, whom Porthos and Aramis were trying to recall to life.
“Are they both dead?” asked Lord de Winter, sternly.
“No,” replied Athos, “fortunately Monsieur d’Artagnan has only fainted.”
“Ah, indeed, so much the better!” said Lord de Winter.
At that moment D’Artagnan opened his eyes. He tore himself from the arms of Porthos and Aramis, and threw himself like a madman on the corpse of his mistress.
Athos rose, walked toward his friend with a slow and solemn step, embraced him tenderly, and as he burst into violent sobs, he said to him with his noble and persuasive voice, “Friend, be a man! Women weep for the dead; men avenge them!”
“Oh, yes!” cried D’Artagnan, “yes! If it be to avenge her, I am ready to follow you.”
Athos profited by this moment of strength which the hope of vengeance restored to his unfortunate friend to make a sign to Porthos and Aramis to go and fetch the superior.
The two friends met her in the corridor, greatly troubled and much upset by such strange events; she called some of the nuns, who against all monastic custom found themselves in the presence of five men.
“Madame,” said Athos, passing his arm under that of D’Artagnan, “we abandon to your pious care the body of that unfortunate woman. She was an angel on earth before being an angel in heaven. Treat her as one of your sisters. We will return someday to pray over her grave.”