"I will not promise you to be joyous," replied the young man: "but you may be certain that I will never pass an hour without thinking of you, not one hour, I swear, unless I be dead."
Athos could contain himself no longer: he threw his arm round the neck of his son, and held him embraced with all the powers of his heart. The moon began to be now eclipsed by twilight; a golden band surrounded the horizon, announcing the approach of day. Athos threw his cloak over the shoulders of Raoul, and led him back to the city, where burdens and porters were already in motion, like a vast ant-hill. At the extremity of the plateau, which Athos and Bragelonne were quitting, they saw a dark shadow moving uneasily backward and forward, as if in indecision or ashamed to be seen. It was Grimaud, who, in his anxiety, had tracked his master, and was waiting for him.
"Oh! my good Grimaud," cried Raoul, "what do you want? You are come to tell us it is time to be gone, have you not?"
"Alone?" said Grimaud, addressing Athos, and pointing to Raoul in a tone of reproach, which showed to what an extent the old man was troubled.
"Oh! you are right!" cried the comte. "No, Raoul, do not go alone; no, he shall not be left alone in a strange land, without some friendly hand to support him, some friendly heart to recall to him all he loved!"
"I?" said Grimaud.
"You, yes, you!" cried Raoul, touched to his inmost heart.
"Alas!" said Athos, "you are very old, my good Grimaud."
"So much the better," replied the latter, with an inexpressible depth of feeling and intelligence.
"But the embarkation is begun," said Raoul, "and you are not prepared."