“Ah, sir!” answered Raoul, “you joke about a real misfortune; that is cruel, indeed.”
The good understanding between the two friends was not in the least altered by the morning’s skirmish. They breakfasted with a good appetite, looking now and then at poor Raoul, who with moist eyes and a full heart, scarcely ate at all.
After breakfast two letters arrived for Athos, who read them with profound attention, whilst D’Artagnan could not restrain himself from jumping up several times on seeing him read these epistles, in one of which, there being at the time a very strong light, he perceived the fine writing of Aramis. The other was in a feminine hand, long, and crossed.
“Come,” said D’Artagnan to Raoul, seeing that Athos wished to be alone, “come, let us take a turn in the fencing gallery; that will amuse you.”
And they both went into a low room where there were foils, gloves, masks, breastplates, and all the accessories for a fencing match.
In a quarter of an hour Athos joined them and at the same moment Charles brought in a letter for D’Artagnan, which a messenger had just desired might be instantly delivered.
It was now Athos’s turn to take a sly look.
D’Artagnan read the letter with apparent calmness and said, shaking his head:
“See, dear friend, what it is to belong to the army. Faith, you are indeed right not to return to it. Monsieur de Tréville is ill, so my company can’t do without me; there! my leave is at an end!”
“Do you return to Paris?” asked Athos, quickly.