"What! not for a friend, for a son!"
"Exactly. If you were a stranger, I should tell you—I should tell you nothing at all. How is Porthos, do you know?"
"Monsieur," cried Raoul, pressing D'Artagnan's hand, "I entreat you in the name of the friendship you have vowed to my father!"
"The deuce take it, you are really ill—from curiosity."
"No; it is not from curiosity, it is from love."
"Good. Another grand word. If you were really in love, my dear Raoul, you would be very different."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that if you were so deeply in love that I could believe I was addressing myself to your heart—but it is impossible."
"I tell you I love Louise to distraction."
D'Artagnan could read to the very bottom of the young man's heart.